/FJf 


A    SON    OF    THE   PLAINS 


.-mm 


A   SO^^   OF    THE    PLAINS 


BY 

ARTHUR    PATERSO]^ 

AUTHOR  OF  "a  MA>-  OF  HIS  WORD,"  "THE  DAUGHTER 
OF  THE  NEZ  PEECES,"  ETC. 


MACMILLAN   AND   CO. 

AND     LONDON 
1895 

All  n't/his  reserved 


So/' 


Copyright,  1895, 
By  macmillajst  and  CO. 


NorSaooti  i^nss : 

J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith. 

Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


CONTEXTS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

PAGE 

On  the  Trail 1 


CHAPTER   II. 
Arapahoe  Camp 23 

CHAPTER   III. 
Rescued 36 

CHAPTER   IV. 
'■Road  Agexts  " „         .         .  53 

CHAPTER    V. 
Jeffersox  Collixgwood.  Cowboy     .         .         .         o         ,         ^73 

CHAPTER  VI. 
The  Attack  at  Clixter's  Ford        ......       90 

CHAPTER    VII. 
The  Words  of  a  Wise  Max 100 

CHAPTER    VITI. 

iSTat's  Reward     ..........     119 

V 


M105429 


Vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   IX. 

PAOE 

Thunder  in  the  Air  .         . 131 

CHAPTER   X. 
The  Storm  bursts 148 

CHAPTER   XI. 
In  the  Lion's  Den      .........     167 

CHAPTER    XII. 
Not  Forsaken •     1^3 

CHAPTER   XIII. 
War  to  the  Knife     ......»•-     198 

CHAPTER   XIV. 
Death-grips         ........••     212 

CHAPTER   XV. 
Mixer's  Men 222 

CHAPTER   XVI. 
Maizie's  Explanation 239 

CHAPTER   XVII. 
Jeff  takes  Advice 251 


A  SOX  OF  THE  PLAIXS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ON   THE   TEAIL. 

A  BEOWX  line  of  sandy  track  six  hundred  miles 
long,  and  fifteen  to  fifty  yards  broad,  beaten  out  of  the 
prairie  by  the  hoofs  of  countless  oxen,  sheep,  and 
horses,  and  the  feet  of  men,  —  such  is  that  great 
emigrants'  thoroughfare  from  East  to  West  knoyrn  as 
the  Santa  Fe  trail. 

The  source  of  the  trail  is  at  Van  Buren  City,  Arkan- 
sas ;  it  ends  at  Santa  Fe,  the  capital  of  New  Mexico, 
and  so  yast  has  been  the  traffic  oyer  it  that  eyen  the 
tough  prairie  grass  has  yielded  up  its  life,  and  not  a 
blade  is  left  upon  the  track  for  fully  four  hundred 
miles. 

A  grim  record  has  the  Santa  Fe  trail.  All  kinds  of 
men  pass  oyer  it,  but  it  kno\ys  the  emigrant  best, — 


2        ,  ,  ,  A    SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

aiTvI  niajiiy.  ve-ry  many,  iiaye  never  gone  further.  Thirst 
killed  themV'one  by  ot'e,  as  they  wearily  tramped  on 
and  on,  expecting  the  summer  rains,  which  were  late 
that  year;  or  they  died,  a  score  at  a  time,  round  their 
blazing  wagons,  massacred  in  a  night  by  the  Arapahoe 
Indians. 

Nowadays,  the  journey  is  comparatively  safe ;  but  the 
observant  traveller  finds  many  a  memento  of  the  good 
old  times,  and  when  turning  over  the  bones  of  cattle, 
horses  and  sheep  by  the  wayside,  will  stumble  not 
unfrequently  upon  the  skull  of  a  man. 

Twenty  years  ago,  before  the  trail's  deadliest  foe, 
the  Atchison,  Topeka,  and  Santa  Fe  Railway,  began  to 
cut  it  to  pieces  and  extinguish  part  of  it  altogether,  a 
man  who  embarked  on  a  journey  across  the  plains 
carried  his  life  in  his  hands.  Yet  there  Avere  men  who 
did  it  constantly.  Stockmen  these,  bred  in  the  country 
beyond  the  trail,  whose  business  it  was  to  bring  their 
produce  to  the  Eastern  markets,  and  who  counted  such 
risks  as  it  had  to  offer  them  the  merest  child's  play. 
Every  summer,  in  the  months  of  June  and  July,  when 
rain  may  be  expected, —  though  it  does  not  always 
come,  —  men  with  wild-eyed  sheep,  gaunt  long-horned 
cattle,  or  wiry  broncho  ponies,  wended  their  way  by 
easy  stages  from  the  mountains  and  the  plains  of  New 


ox   THE   TRAIL.  6 

Mexico  and  Colorado  to  the  toAvns  of  Kansas,  sometimes 
as  far  as  Kansas  City  itself,  marking  by  day  the  water- 
holes  and  creeks,  at  night  watching  by  their  lonely 
camp-fires  for  the  prowling  Indian.  The  Indians,  to 
do  them  justice,  seldom  interfered  wantonly  with  such 
travellers,  finding  them  more  trouble  than  their  posses- 
sions were  worth. 

In  the  summer  of  1873,  a  camp  of  two  thousand 
sheep,  four  horses,  a  dog,  and  a  wagon,  all  in  the 
charge  of  two  men,  leisurely  wended  its  way  in  an 
easterly  direction,  bound  for  Seckersburg,  a  town  in 
Eastern  Kansas.  The  sheep  were  "Mexican,"  but 
well-graded  with  Merino  blood,  and  while  retaining 
the  physical  strength  and  hardiness  of  their  original 
ancestry,  had  gained  a  crop  of  tliick,  long-stapled, 
silk}'  wool,  which  would  give  them  a  good  market 
value  anywhere.  JMoreover,  they  were  in  excellent 
condition,  in  which  respect  they  were  in  striking  con- 
trast to  the  rest  of  the  live-stock,  including  their  owner 
and  his  man. 

Food  on  a  sheep-ranche  is  of  the  simplest  descrip- 
tion. In  winter  every  one  eats  mutton.  Bread  is 
used  sparingly  and  as  a  luxury;  molasses  (coarse 
treacle)  is  occasionally  indulged  in.  For  drink,  there 
is    coffee,    innocent   of    milk   or   sugar.     In   summer. 


4  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

owing  to  the  absence  of  refrigerators,  fresh  meat  is 
impossible,  and  the  sheep-man  retires  upon  dried  or 
salted  bacon.  To  this  beans  are  added,  and  the  two 
together  form  the  whole  of  the  diet  available  on  a  sheep- 
ranche  while  the  warm  weather  lasts.  In  summer, 
therefore,  sheep-men  are  the  thinnest  of  any  known 
race  on  earth. 

The  men  in  charge  of  these  sheep  on  the  trail  were 
in  their  usual  summer  condition.  Their  dog,  whose 
share  of  the  food  Avas  the  bread  crusts  and  bacon  rinds, 
was  thinner  still ;  while  the  horses,  though  indepen- 
dent of  meat,  were  worked  so  hard,  by  reason  of  the 
sandy  nature  of  the  track,  that  to  an  inexperienced  eye 
they  would  have  appeared  mere  living  skeletons. 
Those  who  knew  the  Western  pony,  however,  would 
have  pronounced  them  to  be  in  good  working  trim. 

The  camp,  when  we  become  acquainted  with  it,  was 
beginning  its  first  preparations  for  settling  down  for 
the  night,  on  the  Two  Butte  Creek,  a  small  water- 
course twenty  miles  west  of  the  Kansas  frontier.  It 
was  a  good  camping-ground.  The  creek,  with  the  aid 
of  a  shower  the  day  before,  had  deserved  its  name  by 
providing  at  this  point  three  large  holes  of  water,  or, 
to  speak  more  correctly,  liquid  of  the  colour  and  con- 
sistency of  thick  pea-soup,  which  when  boiled  in  the 


ON   THE   TEATL.  b 

coffee-pot  produced  a  certain  quantity  of  water.  A 
strip  of  fresh,  succulent  grass  bordered  the  creek  for 
nearly  half  a  mile,  the  trail  crossing  a  hundred  yards 
below  and  bearing  away  slantwise  to  the  northeast, 
ascendingf  a  "roll"  or  undulation  of  ijrairie,  on  the 
side  of  which  the  camp  was  pitched.  In  a  few  minutes 
the  fire  was  lighted,  the  horses  picketed  out  for  the 
night,  and  cooking-utensils  (/.f.  two  tin  plates  and 
cups,  a  frying-pan,  battered  coffee-pot  and  mill,  and 
pan  of  black  Mexican  beans)  were  produced  from  the 
wagon,  and  in  less  time  than  any  civilised  person 
would  consider  possible,  the  camp-master  stood  up  and 
whistled  a  signal  to  his  companion  that  supper  was 
ready. 

This  man  meanwhile,  the  herder,  had  gently  set 
the  two  thousand  faces  of  his  sheep  camp-wards, 
and,  leavino'  them  to  their  own  devices,  made  a 
wide  detour  to  the  left,  approached  his  supper  — 
that  best  and  most  grateful  of  meals  —  with  long 
eao-er  strides. 

It  was  a  peaceful  scene,  growing  more  so  as,  the 
sun  having  set,  the  night  gathered  fast  from  the 
east  and  the  evening  stillness  crept  over  all  living 
thino-s.  There  was  no  wind,  and  the  skv  was  free 
of  cloud.     To  the  west  the   lurid  light    in    the    wake 


6  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

of  the  sun  made  the  brown  prairie,  stretching  like  tlie 
sea  without  a  bush  to  relieve  its  monotony,  browner 
still,  and  cast  a  faint  reflection  of  orange  on  the 
white  backs  of  the  sheep,  as  they  greedily  cropped 
the  fresh  grass,  and  approached  by  slow  degrees 
their  bedding  place  on  the  hill.  The  most  restful 
moment  this  in  all  the  herder's  day.  Sheep,  prop- 
erly handled,  have  an  unfailing  instinct  of  what  to 
do  with  themselves  when  night  is  near.  The  light 
of  the  fire  they  know  means  protection,  and  as  long 
as  it  is  on  the  slope  of  a  hill  —  for  sheep  hate  flat 
ground  to  sleep  on  —  they  draw  toward  it  of  their 
own  accord,  and  as  the  last  gleams  of  daylight  die 
away  settle  contentedly  down  in  one  great  mass 
of   baaing   drowsiness. 

Very  soon  there  was  no  sound  in  camp  but  the 
occasional  stamp  of  the  tired  horses  and  their  busy 
munching  of  the  meadow  grass.  The  sheep  were 
asleep,  the  dog  was  dozing,  and  the  men,  their  sup- 
per done,  smoked  in  silence  before  the  dying  embers 
of  the  fire. 

They  had  not  spoken  a  word  since  the  meal 
began,  and  but  for  a  few  curt  remarks  about  the 
route  to-morrow  they  would  not  address  one  another, 
probably,    for    twenty-four    hours    more.       Yet    they 


ox    THE    TRAIL.  7 

were  not  stupid,  nor  sulky,  nor  sad,  nor  oppressed 
with  uneasy  consciences.  They  were  simply  men 
who  had  been  Lred  in  the  great  silent  land  of  the 
'  far  West,  where  s^^eech  becomes  a  very  minor  quantity 
in  life.  How  can  we  bring  home  such  a  condition 
to  our  readers,  dwellers  in  cities  and  towns,  whose 
fathers  dwelt  in  cities  and  towns,  and  to  whose  ex- 
perience the  customs,  thoughts,  and  actions  of  such 
men  as  we  have  before  us  to-night  are  stranger, 
and  more  puzzling,  than  those  of  the  wildest  beasts 
of  forest  or  field  ? 

Sheep-rearing  had  been  the  business  of  these  men 
for  years ;  and  sheep-camp  in  tlie  summer  Avhere  a 
man  lives  for  months  together  miles  from  the  settle- 
ment in  a  hut  of  his  own  making,  and  sheep-ranche 
in  winter  where  he  is  by  himself  every  day  for  twelve 
hours  out  of  the  twenty-four,  is  the  loneliest  life  in 
the  world.  And  when  this  goes  on  from  year's  end  to 
year's  end  —  one  unchanging  round  of  monotonous 
work,  no  society  to  enliven  it,  no  holiday  to  break 
it  —  what  happens  ? 

In  the  examples  we  have  here,  two  things  have 
happened.  We  will  take  the  herder  first.  He  is  a 
tall,  powerfully  built  man  of  fifty-five,  who  in  spite  of 
his   elastic   step    and    a   wiry   frame,  looks   ten   years 


8  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

more  than  that.  Drink  has  laid  a  heavy  hand  upon 
him.  Just  now  he  is  free  from  his  enemy,  for  he  has 
not  seen  a  saloon  for  two  months,  but  in  the  trem- 
bling hands,  bleary  eyes,  and  bloated  features,  the 
demon  has  left  indelible  claw-marks,  and  when  the 
long  tramp  is  over  will  claim  Sebastian  Bean  body 
and  soul  while  he  has  a  cent  in  his  pocket.  Five 
years  ago  Bean  was  as  sober  a  man  as  need  be, 
but  he  lost  his  wife  that  year,  and  before  twelve 
months  were  gone  every  stick  he  possessed  had  been 
sold  over  his  head,  and  he  was  a  wanderer  without 
a  friend. 

The  other  man,  camp-master  and  OAvner  of  the  two 
thousand  sheep,  is  a  very  different  person.  At  first 
sight  he  looks  little  more  than  a  boy,  for  he  is  of 
slender  build,  and  has  not  a  hair  on  his  face.  Take  a 
second  glance  into  that  face,  and  you  feel  he  may  be 
any  age  up  to  forty.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  is  just 
twenty-two,  but  so  hardly  have  the  circumstances  of 
his  life  dealt  with  him,  that  no  Eastern  man  would 
believe  he  was  less  than  five  and  thirty. 

There  is  no  sign  of  drink,  however,  here.  His  features 
are  regular  and  sharply  cut,  his  complexion  a  clear 
brown,  albeit  so  burnt  and  deeply  tanned  by  exposure 
that  one  would  be  half  inclined  to  wonder  whether  he 


ox   THE   TRAIL.  9 

were  of  white  blood  but  for  his  light  blue  eyes.  He 
is  the  pictiu-e  of  health,  and  gaunt  though  he  be,  unlike 
most  sheep-men  he  holds  himself  well,  carrying  his 
head  Ayith  a  certain  dignity  which  makes  him  appear 
taller  than  he  is.  Yet  he  looks  haggard  and  worn. 
His  cheeks  are  as  hollow  as  thouo-h  he  were  recoyer- 
ing  from  illness,  his  lips,  untouched  as  yet  by  the 
merest  suggestion  of  a  moustache,  are  thin  and 
tightly  drawn.  Western  life  has  left  its  mark  on 
him.  There  has  been  no  pleasure  in  his  life  since 
he  can  remember.  He  has  worked  hard  and  success- 
fully, for  these  sheep  are  all  his  own,  but  there  has 
been  some  shadow  across  his  path  which  has  robbed 
him  of  his  youth.  If  we  look  closely  into  his  face, 
we  see  something  more  than  weariness  caused  by  a 
monotonous  life.  In  his  eyes  there  is  that  listeninsf, 
watchful  expression,  to  be  found  in  the  eyes  of  say- 
ages,  or  of  men  who  haye  had  to  liye  for  years  in  the 
midst  of  constant  danger,  yet  the  cast  of  his  feat- 
ures is  curiously  immobile,  and  seldom  expresses  the 
least  emotion  or  interest  in  anything  liying  or  dead. 
Nat  Worsley  began  life  on  his  own  account  at  eleyen 
years  old.  His  mother  died  when  he  was  six,  and  for 
fiye  years  afterwards  he  was  the  companion  of  his 
father  —  a  sheep-man  of  some  wealth.     This  was  in  the 


10  A    SON    OF   THE    PLAINS. 

old  frontier  days  before  the  Civil  War,  about  wliicli 
life  people  nowadays  know  little.  Frontiersmen  are 
always  silent  and  uncommunicative  folk,  and  so  liard 
was  the  life  and  rough  the  fare  then,  that  travellers  in 
search  of  information  went  elsewhere  to  find  it.  In 
Nat's  eleventh  year  the  Comanches  came  down,  and  far 
and  wide  rose  the  smoke  of  burning  homesteads  and 
the  shrieks  of  tortured  men.  One  day  Worsley's 
ranche  was  attacked,  and  after  a  sharp  struggle  —  the 
boy  behaving  under  fire  like  a  veteran  of  ten  cam- 
paigns—  the  place  was  taken,  and  within  twenty-four 
hours  Nat  became  the  adopted  son  of  the  chief  by 
whose  hand  his  father  died. 

Five  years  passed.  The  boy  lived,  even  thrived, 
under  the  training  of  his  foster-father,  who  loved 
him  and  taught  him  everything  he  knew.  All  this 
time  Nat  never  saw  a  white  face  nor  heard  a  word 
of  English  spoken.  But  he  never  forgot  the  night 
his  father  died  ;  and  as  he  grew  older  the  determi- 
nation to  make  his  escape  grew  also.  At  sixteen  he 
contrived  to  realise  his  ambition,  and  falling  into 
the  hands  of  Texan  horse-breeders,  worked  his  way 
back  to  the  place  of  his  birth  in  Southern  New 
Mexico,  picking  up  his  own  language,  which  he 
had    forgotten,  on  the  way.       Here   he   took   service 


ox   THE   TRAIL.  11 

as  herder  with  one  John  Denayer,  who  had  known 
his  father,  and  worked  so  well  that  in  five  years 
more  his  master  took  him  into  partnership.  A 
year  later  Denayer  died,  leaving  Xat  part  of  his 
property. 

All  this  time  the  boy  had  been  gradually  emerging 
from  the  half-savage  condition  to  which  his  training 
in  the  Indian  camp  had  reduced  him.  John  Denayer 
taught  him  to  read  and  Avrite,  and  Mrs.  Denayer,  a 
native  of  St.  Louis,  told  him  a  great  deal  about 
tOAvn  life  and  the  world  in  the  East  beyond  the 
plains,  and  lent  him  books,  which  he  had  eagerly 
devoured.  The  outcome  of  all  this  was  that  when 
Mrs.  Denayer,  after  her  husband's  death,  returned 
to  her  relations  in  the  East,  Xat  decided  to  follow 
her  ;  see  something  of  the  world  that  men  had  made, 
and  complete  his  education.  So,  in  the  good  old- 
fashioned  way,  he  had  packed  his  worldly  posses- 
sions into  a  wagon,  and  hiring  one  man  to  help 
him,  set  his  face  eastward  and  started  upon  the  long- 
journey  over  the  Santa  Ye  trail. 

His  plans  were  to  sell  his  stock  when  he  could 
find  a  good  market  for  them,  and  tlien  hasten  on  by 
train  to  A'isit  Mrs.   Denayer  in  St.   Louis. 

He  was  now  more  than  half-wav  across.      Another 


12  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

month,  and  Seckersburg,  where  he  hoped  to  sell  the 
sheep,  would  be  reached.  Most  young  men  under 
such  circumstances  would  have  been  eager  and  hope- 
ful. Not  so  Nat.  So  deeply  had  the  weariness  of 
his  many  hardships  and  long  years  of  toil  entered 
into  his  being,  that  he  liad  no  mental  buoyancy  left 
to  hope  for  anything.  He  dreaded,  with  the  shrink- 
ing of  a  wild  creature,  the  plunge  into  a  new  Avorld, 
and  only  took  this  plunge  because  he  felt  instinc- 
tively that  without  a  break  in  this  unnatural  life 
of  loneliness  and  monotony  he  would  go  mad,  or, 
like  the  man  beside  him,  take  to  drink. 

The  fire  burnt  lower  and  lower,  the  pipes  were 
done,  it  was  time  to  turn  in.  The  campers  rose 
together  without  speaking,  and  laid  their  blankets  on 
the  grass.  They  did  not  go  to  sleep  at  once.  Bean 
had  a  blistered  foot  to  attend  to,  and  Nat,  with  the 
mechanical  action  of  one  who  is  performing  a  daily 
task,  knocked  out,  examined,  and  reinserted,  the  car- 
tridges of  a  revolver  and  repeating  rifle,  which  were 
never  out  of  his  reach  day  or  night.  He  had  just 
completed  this  when  he  heard  a  strange  sound,  and 
without  moving  a  muscle  of  face  or  body  sat  listen- 
ing. Bean  dropped  the  foot  he  was  examining  and 
looked  up.      He    did   not    attempt   to   listen   himself. 


ON    THE   TRAIL.  13 

After  a  minute  Nat  took  his  rifle  and  pistol  and 
laid  tliem  across  the  blankets  at  his  feet,  drawing 
his  knees  up  to  his  chin  and  clasping  them  with  his 
hands. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  said  musingly,  as  if  speaking  to 
himself,  "  who  this  will  be  ?  " 

"  What  ?  " 

"  The  horseman  on  the  trail  from  the  east. 
There's  only  one.  I  guess  his  horse  is  tired,  by 
the  steady  way  his  foot-ta2:)S  strike.  Can't  you  hear 
it  now  ?  " 

Bean  shrugged  his  shoulders.  His  worst  enemy 
could  not  accuse  him  of  dulness  of  hearing,  but 
this  was  beyond  his  poAver.  He  drew  on  his  boots 
again,  however,  and  stood  u^^. 

"Ah  !  now  I  dew  catch  it.  He  ain't  goin'  so  fast 
neither.     Yet  he's  lopin'.       Tell  us  what  it  means." 

"A  man  who  has  ridden  far.  We  must  stop  him. 
Come  with  me,  and  keep  to  the  right  of  the  track. 
Lie  down  when  you  o-et  there.  We  will  bead  him 
together,  but  don't  let  go  unless  my  shot  fails. 
Keep  your  aim  well  on  the  horse.  A  man  doesn't 
lope  over  the  trail  alone  at  night  for  nothing." 

This  was  the  last  word  spoken.  With  quick 
steps  the  men  vanished  out  of  range  of  the  firelight. 


14  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

and  not  a  sound  betrayed  tlieir  whereabouts  until 
on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  faintly  outlined  against  the 
starlit  sky,  there  came  the  figure  of  a  man  on 
horse,  riding  hard. 

u  Pull  in,  _  Halt  !  " 

The  words  rang  out  like  a  pistol  shot,  and  made 
the  horses  near  the  wagon  jump,  wdiile  the  dog, 
left  to  guard  the  camp,  gave  a  deep  growl  of 
sympathy.  As  for  the  person  to  Avhom  they  were 
addressed,  he  Avas  so  much  astonished  that  he  nearly 
fell  off  his  horse  in  reining  him  in. 

"Get  down  !" 

The  traveller  hesitated,  and  settled  himself  in  the 
saddle. 

''  Who  are  ye  ?" 

^'Get  down!'' 

An  emj)hasis  was  placed  on  the  last  word  which 
served  its  purpose  well.  The  horseman  instinc- 
tively ducked  his  head  as  if  to  avoid  a  threat- 
ened bullet  and  slid  from  his  saddle. 

"Well — here  I  am,"  he  drawled,  —  "and  there's 
nothing  to  me,  or  on  me,  or  in  me — for  I'm 
hungrier  than  three  bears." 

"  Come  to  our  camp  then,  and  we'll  fill  you  up 
with  a  square  meal." 


ON    THE   TKAIL.  15 

The  man  gave  a  prodigious  sigli  of  relief. 

"  That's  g-ood  news.  ^Iv  head's  nioii  turned  sillv 
with  hunger,  and  I'm  choked  with  thirst.  Let  me 
eat  a  sup.  and  then  you  shall  hear  all  I  know.  And 
T  have  news,  yes — ^ly  Lord  !  *' 

He  said  the  last  words  to  himself  in  a  lower  tone, 
and,  the  camp  being  reached,  he  slipped  the  saddle 
off  liis  horse,  begged  some  corn  for  him,  and  then 
threw  himself  by  the  fire  as  if  tired  out. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  was  devouring  beans  and  bacon 
in  a  way  that  did  credit  to  his  teeth  and  appetite. 
Xat  and  Bean  watched  him  and  speculated. 

He  was  a  cowboy — that  was  C[uite  evident.  His 
Ijroad  felt  hat  with  its  whip-cord  band,  a  shirt  gaudily 
embroidered  with  beads,  leather  riding-overalls,  high- 
heeled  boots,  in  which  no  one  could  walk  a  mile 
without  danger  of  being  lamed  for  life,  and  spurs 
with  rowels  three  inches  in  diameter,  —  proved  that. 
But  his  carriage  and  bearing  were  far  from  express- 
ing the  easy  assurance  generally  characteristic  of 
men  of  his  profession.  His  hands,  they  noticed,  were 
shaking  as  if  he  were  recovering  from  a  debauch  ; 
his  face  Avas  a  dtiU  yellow,  and  he  shuddered  at 
intervals  as  if  he  were  suffering  from  ague.  But 
according   to   Western    etiquette    no    c[uestions   might 


16  A   SON   OF   THli   PLAINS. 

be  asked  until  he  had  eaten  and  drunk  his  fill. 
AVhen  he  had  emptied  his  fourth  cup  of  coffee,  Nat 
handed  him  a  corn-cob  pipe  and  a  light. 

"If  you're  through  —  we're  ready." 

The  man  nodded,  and  eagerly  seized  the  pipe,  his 
fingers  shaking  so  much  that  he  dropped  the  burn- 
ing wood  upon  his  clothes  and  nearly  set  himself  on 
fire.  He  laughed  at  this,  a  feeble,  forced  sort  of 
chuckle. 

"I'll  be  doggoned,  friends,  if  ever  I  were  like  this 
before.  I'm  just  scared  right  through,  'tain't  to  be 
denied.  My  nerve  —  why,  I  have  no  nei*ve,  now. 
No  more'n  a  tenderfoot  bucked  on  his  head  for  the 
first  time.  I'm  clean  turned,  as  you  may  say.  But 
then  I've  seen —  How  can  I  tell  ye  ?  See  here 
now.  One  hour  before  sundown  twenty-six  boys, 
myself  among  'em,  camped  in  a  creek  fifteen  miles 
east  of  here,  and  'bout  half  a  mile  off  the  trail.  We 
was  travelling  partly  to  convoy  some  fine  stock  ;  and 
part  to  escort  two  gells  —  daughters  of  old  man 
Shelford,  sheep-man,  Alberquerque  way  —  to  New 
Mexico.  This  was  an  hour  before  sundown,  three, 
or  maybe  four,  hour  ago.  Now  — "  he  paused,  and 
then  went  on  in  a  hoarse  whisper  :  — 

"  It  Avas  a  pretty  camp.     Good  water,  and    cotton- 


ON   THE    TRAIL.  17 

wood  —  quite  a  lot  of  timber.  The  gells  was  that 
pleased  they  began  walkin'  down  the  creek,  tired  of 
ridm'  so  long.  We  boys  went  to  the  tail  wagon, 
where  there  Avere  a  whiskey  bar'l  kept,  to  take  a  nip 
'fore  settlin'  in  for  the  night.  We  were  all  dry, 
for  the  day  had  been  dusty  and  hot,  and  so,  some- 
hoAY,  we  took  two  nips  —  or  some  of  us  did  —  and 
we  were  all  hangin'  around  anyhow  —  when  on  a 
sudden  there  came  a  woman's  shriek  ;  another,  louder, 
and  two  more  sraothered-like,  and  then  the  boss,  who 
was  on  the  other  side  of  the  wagon  and  could  see 
further  than  any,  yelled  out  :  — 

"'It's  a  raid  —  Arapahoes  !  Fight,  ye  devils,  fight. 
If  those  gells  are  lost,  and  one  of  you  lives,  I'll  plug 
him  myself.' 

"  It  was  his  last  word  —  poor  old  Jeph  !  A  bullet 
whizzed  from  the  timber,  and  he  fell  all  of  a  heap. 
Then  Ave  started,  every  boy  of  us  —  madder  than 
hares.  But  not  one  had  any  sense  after  the  whiskey, 
and  we  went  for  'em  bald-headed  in  the  open.  And 
the  Arapahoes,  who'd  planted  themselves  in  that 
timber,  cunning  as  death,  had  the  easiest  time  you 
can  think  of.  We  fought — aye  —  and  all  lie  there 
dead,  scalped.  All  but  me  and  the  gells.  I  hap- 
pened on  my  pony,  and  when  I  saw  it  were  no  good, 
c 


18  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

I    lit    out,    and    liere    I    am,    and  —  that's    the    end, 
captain." 

The  man  stopped  abruptly  and  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands,  twitching  all  over. 

No  one  spoke  for  nearly  a  minute.  Seb  Bean's 
teeth  were  clenched,  and  he  Avas  breathing  heavily. 
Nat,  without  any  change  of  countenance,  was  look- 
ing at  the  cowboy. 

"  You  did  not  bring  the  women  along  ?  "  he  said  at 
last. 

The  man  started  as  if  he  had  been  bitten. 

"Women?  The  devils  attacked  us  for  them  and 
our  horses.  The  gells,  I  told  ye,  were  snapped  up 
first  pop.     I  were  only  one.'' 

There  was  another  silence,  broken  at  length  by  Seb 
Bean,  who  was  unable  to  contain  his  feelings  any 
longer,  and  let  fly  a  volley  of  hard  oaths,  whether  at 
the  Indians  or  at  the  cowboy  for  his  desertion,  or  at 
both,  was  not  quite  clear.     The  stranger  turned  pale. 

"  You  can  call  me  what  you  like,  boss.  But  'tain't 
fair.     What  could  you,  or  any  one,  ha'  done  ?  " 

He  made  the  appeal  to  Nat.  But  Nat  seemed  to 
hear  nothing.     He  was  staring  into  the  fire. 

"They  weren't  Comanches?"  he  said  at  last. 

"  No  —  no,  Arapahoes. " 


ON    THE   TRAIL.  19 

"  "What  sized  crowd  '!  "* 

"  A  himdred  —  mebbe  less ;  but  enough  on  the 
surprise." 

Xat  nodded,  and  fell  into  his  reverie  until  a  hand 
grasped  his  knee. 

"Nat,  boy,"  growled  Bean's  voice,  trembling  and 
husky,  "you've  been  with  Injuns,  and  you  hioiv. 
Can't  you  see  any  way  we  might  pick  them  girls  out  ? 
I'd  o-o  anvwhere  and  chance  all  for  the  littlest  bit  of  a 
show  at  it  if  you  could  tell  me  how  to  start." 

Xat  laid  his  hand  on  the  old  man's  and  held  it  fast. 

"AVait,  I'm  thinking." 

Another  silence  —  a  long  one  this  time.  Then  Xat 
raised  his  eyes  slowly  and  looked  at  the  cowboy 
again. 

"I  lived  five  years  in  Comanche  camp,  friend,  and 
I  have  an  idea.  It  is  not  for  you,  Seb,"  pressing  his 
hand  ;  ^*  I  must  work  it  out,  and  this  man  must  show 
me  the  way." 

^^  What  I  "  shrieked  the  cowboy,  springing  up  ;  "  go 
back  to  them  demons,  whose  yeUs  are  ringing  in  my 
ears  this  minute?  No!  I  say  no.  You  ain't  seen 
what  I  have.  That  old  man,  he  knows  nothing.  If 
those  gells  were  my  own  sisters,  I  would  not  stir  a 
step. — Hello!    what  —  hold  up  —  I  can't  breathe." 


20  A   SON'  OF   THE   PLAINS. 

He  had  been  caught  hy  the  throat  and  thrown 
down,  his  neck  gripped  so  tightly  that  he  dared  not 
struggle  for  fear  of  being  choked  outright. 

"  Save  your  breath  and  listen  to  me,"  said  Nat,  in 
a  tone  that  trembled  a  little  now.  "  I  have  not  hurt 
you  and  don't  wish  to.  But  be  careful,  for  the  life 
of  a  coward  is  worth  nothing  in  this  country.  I  don't 
know  the  location  of  those  Arapahoes,  and  you  do.  I 
want  nothing  more  from  you.  Will  you  refuse? 
You  won't  if  you  have  the  heart  of  a  cat.  Get  up 
and  tell  us,  but  no  more  raving  foolishness ;  I  can't 
stand  that." 

The  cowboy's  throat  Avas  freed,  and  he  rose  to  his 
feet  as  he  was  bid,  slowly.  He  still  felt  the  grip  of 
Nat's  fingers,  and  before  he  spoke  rubbed  his  neck 
vigorously  and  groaned.  Then  he  looked  long  and 
earnestly  at  the  men.  There  was  no  resentment  in 
his  face. 

"  Are  you  re'elly  going  ? "  he  said  at  last. 

"Yes." 

''Ah,  we-el  —  I  —  I'll  be  with  ye.  Now  that's 
truth." 

He  laughed  the  careless  cowboy's  laugh,  and  held 
out  his  hand.  Nat  took  it,  and  looked  at  the  man 
keenly. 


ox   THE   TRAIL.  21 

"  AYliat  does  tins  mean — are  you  foolino-?  " 

''  Foolin'  I  "  He  laughed  again.  "  Look  here, 
boss,  I  ahi't  so  terrible  wise,  but  I  know  enough  to 
play  a  straight  game  with  i/ou,  and  I  stand  to  my 
Avord,  if  I  can't  always  stand  fire.  I  mean  business ! 
Tm  glad  to  go  there.  After  all,  you're  'bout  right. 
A  coward  is  worse  trash  than  skunks.  See  now,  I'll 
swear."  he  said,  becoming  enthusiastic,  '•  to  hold  to 
ye  in  this,  and  you  may  plug  me  through  if  I  fail." 

Nat  set  his  teeth. 

"  Swear,  then  —  with  me  —  repeat  every  word,  and 
Seb,  you  be  witness  to  his  oath." 

They  were  all  on  their  feet  now,  and  the  fire, 
revived  by  a  kick  from  the  old  herder,  blazed  up  for 
a  moment,   shining  brightly  on  the  earnest  faces. 

"  I  swear,"  said  Nat,  "  that  I  will  go  back  u23on 
this  trail  to  save  these  women,  so  help  me  God." 

The  cowboy  repeated  the  words  in  a  loud  voice. 
He  was  a  different  person  now.  His  eyes  were 
steady ;  he  stood  firmly  on  his  feet,  the  shivering 
had   gone. 

There  was  a  moment  of  deep  silence  after  the  oath 
had  been  taken,  and  then  Seb  Bean,  placing  a  hand 
on  the  shoulder  of  each  of  the  men,  added  an  oath 
of   his    own. 


22  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

"And  I  swear  to  you,  Nat  Worsley,  that  if  this 
man  breaks  faith,  and  deserts  you  in  your  time  of 
need,  though  he  go  to  the  end  of  the  world  I  will  find 
him  out  and  kill  him,  so  Jielj)  me  G-od.''^ 


CHAPTER   II. 

AEAPAHOE    CA3IP. 

i 

A  COUNCIL  of  Indian  warriors  twenty  years  ago 
was  often  an  impressive  sight.  In  peace  time,  when 
the  chiefs  assembled  in  tlieir  robes  of  state  —  albeit 
only  blankets  and  feathers  and  furs  —  and  the  cere- 
mony was  conducted  according  to  rules  of  the  strict- 
est etiquette  and  decorum,  these  councils  of  savages 
might  be  set  as  examples  which  the  parliaments  and 
congresses  of  civilisation  would  do  well  to  study  with 
diligence  and  respect.  In  war  time,  before  battle, 
the  sight  was  grander  still  in  spite  of  the  grotesque- 
ness  of  the  war-paint.  But  after  battle  —  especially 
after  a  victory  —  everything  was  changed,  and  in  the 
place  of  judicial  deliberations  of  grave  men,  there 
was  a  jabbering  crowd  of  wildly  exulting  bravos, 
each  man  so  busy  boasting  of  his  own  deeds  and 
prowess  that  the  few  chiefs  anxious  to  get  business 
done  had  a  hard  and  thankless  task. 

23  ^       •  • 


24  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

The  Arapahoes,  this  night,  were  no  exception  to 
the  rule.  Twenty-five  white  men  had  they  killed  ; 
and  for  booty  they  could  count  forty  good  horses, 
an  extensive  camp  outfit  of  provisions  and  whiskey, 
and,  best  of  all,  two  white  women. 

So  the  gallant  redskins  made  merry.  They  ate 
the  meat,  the  bacon,  and  the  bread,  and  every  scrap 
of  food  cooked  and  raw  that  they  could  find  ;  then 
they  drank  the  whiskey,  then  they  set  the  wagons 
on  fire  and  danced  until  they  were  nearly  mad, 
and  lastly  they  thronged  to  the  council  fire  and 
squatted  there  to  decide  in  full  conclave  assembled 
upon  the  fate  of  the  captive  women. 

A  tall  chief,  grey-haired,  and  yet  still  upright  and 
full  of  vigour,  rose  first  to  address  them.  This 
was  Long-tailed  Dog,  principal  war-chief  of  the 
nation.  He  made  a  long  speech  which  was  listened 
to  in  respectful  silence  —  a  strong  proof  of  his  influ- 
ence, and  of  the  self-control  possessed  by  Indians 
even  when  they  are  drunk,  for  Long-tailed  Dog  was 
not  a  man  of  few  words. 

The  last  sentences  of  his  harangue  were  as  fol- 
lows: — 

"  I  have  now  spoken  all  my  words.  Shall  the 
women  be  made  squaAvs  of   the   nation  ?      Shall  they 


ARAPAHOE    CAMP.  25 

be  kept  until  good  money  is  -paid  for  them  by 
the  whites,  or  will  the  young  men  cbaw  lots  to- 
night—" 

He  got  no  further.  Such  a  fierce  and  unanimous 
hum  of  assent  to  tlie  last  proposition  rose  on  every 
side  that  Long-tailed  Dog,  with  the  wisdom  drawn 
from  experience,  sat  down  there  and  then  without 
finishing  his  sentence. 

Up  leapt  one  of  the  younger  chiefs,  and  with  a 
few  impassioned  words  carried  his  audience  away. 
Fierce  yells  came  from  every  side.  The  men  started 
to  their  feet,  and  so  great  became  the  clamour  that 
even  Long-tailed  Dog  tried  in  vain  to  make  himself 
heard.  The  braves  were  beyond  all  authority  now. 
Two  thi^ew  doT\TL  their  arms  to  drag  the  captives 
to  the  front.  A  regiment  of  troops  could  not  have 
saved  them.  But  at  this  moment  above  the  shrieks 
and  yells  there  came  a  long-drawn  and  j^eculiar  cry, 
and  every  Indian  started  as  if  he  had  been  shot. 
Xone  were  so  drunk  as  not  to  be  able  to  recognise 
that  sound.  Xot  one  was  so  brave  as  not  to  feel 
a  cold   chill  of    dread    and   forebodino\     Ao-ain   came 

O  O 

the  cry,  this  time  close  at  hand,  and  a  stranger, 
thrusting  unceremoniously  aside  some  braves  who 
were  in  his  Avav,  strode  into  the  centre  of   the  coun- 


26  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

cil,  and  stood  tliere  looking  about  liim  with  the 
haughty  bearing  of  a  master. 

The  clamour  had  ceased.  For  a  moment  the  cap- 
tives were  forgotten,  and  a  profound  silence  fell  upon 
the  furious  crowd. 

There  was  nothing  miraculous  in  this.  For  the 
cry  had  been  the  war-whoop  of  the  Comanches  — 
more  dreaded  by  the  Arapahoes  than  armies  of 
Avliite  men  —  and  the  man  who  stood  in  their  midst 
wore  the  dress  of  a  Comanche  chief. 

"  Peace,  Arapahoes,"  said  the  stranger,  speaking 
with  an  intonation  which  proclaimed  his  race  more 
certainly  to  the  quick  ears  about  him  than  his  long 
head-dress  of  eagle's  feathers  had  done  to  their  eyes. 
''I  am  alone." 

A  change  passed  over  the  faces  of  his  listeners. 
There  was  a  reaction  in  their  feelings,  and  some  even 
cocked  their  rifles  insolently  and  presented  them 
with  a  coarse  threat  at  the  Comanche's  head. 

At  this,  he  became  a  different  being.  With  mar- 
vellous quickness  he  seized  the  weapon  of  the 
nearest  man,  wrested  it  from  his  grasp,  and  bring- 
ing down  the  rifle-butt  with  great  force  upon  his 
head,  felled  him  to  the  ground.  Then  he  threw  the 
rifle    away,    and    folding   his    arms,  looked   scornfully 


ARAPAHOE   CA:MP.  27 

at  the  faces  wliicli  now  crowded  tlireateningiy  around 
him. 

''  Arapahoe  dogs  I  Is  this  your  greeting  to  a 
friend.  Beware,  pigs  !  Though  Young  AVolf  is 
alone,  vet  if  his  head  is  but  sino-ed  by  the  heat  of 
your  fires,  every  hair  that  he  loses  will  be  paid  for 
by  an  Arapahoe  life.     Take  care  I  " 

He  laughed  as  he  spoke,  and  tlie  faces  of  the 
younger  braves  about  him  became  contorted  with 
fury.  But  the  chiefs  were  of  a  very  different  way 
of  thinking.  Led  by  Long-tailed  Dog  they  sur- 
rounded the  stranger ;  courteously  gave  him  wel- 
come to  the  camp,  and  inquired  affectionately  after 
the  health  of  his  friends. 

Young  Wolf  dropped  his  sneering  tone  at  once. 

"  Long-tailed  Dog  speaks  as  a  father.  I  have 
come  in  peace.  Listen,  my  Arapahoe  brothers,  for 
I  have  a  message  from  Spotted  Snake,  the  great 
father  of  my  nation,  who  with  live  hundred  braves " 
— these  words  he  spoke  with  great  distinctness  and 
deliberation  — "  lies  twenty  miles  to  the  north,  on 
the  Small  Fork  River.  He  sends  me  to  you  with 
great  news." 

Young  AVolf  paused  here  ;  and  every  Indian  in 
the  council  became  as  still  as  a  mouse. 


28  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

"  But,"  lie  continued,  "  before  I  speak  you  the 
words  I  have  brought  with  me,  I  would  tell  the 
joy  I  feel  at  your  great  deeds  to-night.  You  have 
many  white  scalps  and  horses,  besides  other  things. 
This  is  good  news  for  me  to  bear  to  my  nation. 
I  will  now  give  the  words  of  Spotted  Snake." 

He  paused  again.  No  one  spoke  or  stirred,  but 
the  speaker's  practised  eye  could  read  uneasiness  in 
every  face  as  he  recounted  their  spoils. 

"The  White  men  have  come  to  offer  us  promises 
of  land,  and  many  good  things  if  we  Avill  give 
them  peace  on  this  trail.  We  think  this  is  good, 
but  we  give  no  answer  to  the  Whites  until  the 
Arapahoe  nation  has  spoken.  Those  are  the  words 
of  Spotted  Snake.  And  this  morning  as  the  sun 
rose,  your  White  Bear  and  Little  Owl  rode  into 
our  camp,  and  wait  now  for  Long-tailed  Dog  to 
join  them.  That  is  my  news.  But,  Arapahoes,  I 
have   yet  words  to  speak  of  my  own.     Listen." 

His  tone  had  changed.  He  spoke  again  as  one 
of  a  dominant  race. 

"  You  have  taken  from  the  Whites  two  of  their 
women.  Do  no  harm  to  them.  My  nation  wish 
for  peace  with  White  men.  If  these  women  are 
hurt,  not  a  chief  of  your  nation  will  live  five  days." 


ARAPAHOE   CA3IP.  29 

He  looked  round  him  defiantly,  expecting  a  yell 
of  dissent.  But  there  was  no  sound.  The  young 
men  kept  a  sullen  silence,  and  the  chiefs  looked 
askance  at  one  another.  At  length  Long-tailed 
Dog  stepped  forAvard  and  advised  compliance  with 
the  request  of  ''our  good  brother."'  —  Xo  one  re- 
sponded, but  no  one  disputed  his  words,  and  when 
he  made  a  sign  that  the  council  was  broken  u^o, 
the  men  separated  into  small  groups  and  slowly 
moved  off  to  their  respective  camp-fires. 

Long-tailed  Dog  now  entered  into  a  long  con- 
versation with  the  Comanche.  By  the  time  it  was 
over  it  was  nearly  midnight,  and  the  old  chief 
proposed  that  they  should  go  to  rest.  The  wily 
Long-tailed  Dog  had  placed  his  blankets  near  the 
women  in  case  of  accidents,  but  wily  as  he  was,  he 
was  not  aware  how  careful  Young  Wolf  had  been 
to  ascertain  this  fact  before  he  consented  to  sleep 
with  him. 

The  place  where  the  Arapahoes  had  camped  was 
two  miles  south  of  the  trail,  on  the  banks  of  a  river, 
where  a  struggling  plantation  of  dwarf  cottonwood 
and  locust  trees  gave  them  shelter  and  cover.  On 
a  broad  meadow  to  the  eastward  the  horses  were 
feeding,    while      beyond     them,     forming    a     cordon 


30  A    SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

round  the  whole  camp,  was  a  line  of  scouts  to 
prevent  any  clanger  of  surprise. 

Long-tailed  Dog  led  the  way  at  a  brisk  pace,  the 
Comanche  keeping  a  yard  or  two  behind,  ajDparently 
out  of  respect,  in  reality  to  examine  unobserved  the 
main  features  of  the  camp.  When  the  old  chief 
turned  to  speak,  however,  his  companion  was  looking 
stolidly  before  him. 

"  See,  friend,  here  are  the  paleface  girls.  You 
will  not  wonder,  now,  that  my  young  men  were 
warm  in  their  words.  These  white  women  are  as 
fair  as  the  morning  sun." 

The  old  man  looked  very  keenly  under  his  brows 
at  the  Comanche  while  he  spoke,  as  if  half  suspecting 
that  he  had  private  ambitions  of  his  own  in  this 
direction. 

He  was  reassured,  however,  by  the  absolute  indif- 
ference of  manner  Avith  which  the  stranger  looked 
upon  the  prisoners.  After  one  careless  glance  Young 
Wolf  yawned  and  turned  his  back  upon  the  women, 
and  asked  where  he  might  rest. 

Meanwhile  the  movements  of  the  chiefs  were 
watched  with  painful  eagerness  by  the  captives.  No 
harm  had  come  to  them  as  yet,  and  they  were  too 
ignorant  of    Indian  ways  to  feel  more  than  a  vague 


ARAPAHOE   CAMP.  31 

formless  dread  of  what  might  happen  in  course  of 
time.  But  when  two  Indians  came  so  near,  and, 
after  a  rude  stare,  rolled  themselves  in  blankets  a  few 
yards  away,  it  was  a  different  thing  altogether.  For 
a  time  the  men  conversed  in  whispers,  then  one,  — 
the  fiercer-looking  and  younger  of  the  two  — drew  a 
flask  or  bottle  of  some  kind  from  his  pocket,  from 
which  flask  the  other  took  a  long  and  eager  pull.  Im- 
mediately afterwards  both  men  lay  down  and  seemed 
to  sleep  soundly. 

The  girls  were  far  too  apprehensive  to  follow  their 
example.  Xow  and  then  they  talked  in  whispers  of 
the  future,  and  how,  if  the  Indians  demanded  a  ran- 
som, they  could  communicate  with  their  father.  But 
whether  they  talked  to  one  another,  or  sat  in  silence, 
—  the  camp-fires  growing  dimmer  as  the  minutes 
passed  and  the  sounds  of  excited  braves  dying  away 
into  heavy  slumber  after  their  debauch,  —  they  never 
took  their  eyes  off  the  Indians  sleeping  at  their 
feet. 

Two  hours  passed,  and  the  camp  was  still.  Even 
the  girls  began  to  get  drowsy,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
might  have  slept ;  when  all  at  once  one  of  the 
figures  by  the  fire  moved,  and  the  girls  clung  to  one 
another   in    speechless    terror.     The    younger    of    the 


32  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

two  Indians  had  risen  from  his  bed  and  was  crawl- 
ing towards  them,  now  on  his  hands  and  knees,  now 
close  to  the  gronnd  like  a  snake.  He  came  foot  by 
foot,  so  slowly  that  the  suspense  was  maddening. 
But  the  girls  sat  still,  white  and  breathless,  too  ter- 
rified to  scream.  One  had  hidden  her  face  on  the 
breast  of  her  sister,  unable  to  bear  the  sight ;  the 
other,  with  lips  firmly  set,  never  removed  her  eyes 
from  the  creeping  form  of  the  man. 

He  was  close  to  them  now,  and  raising  himself  until 
he  rested  on  one  knee,  he  looked  round  the  camp.  All 
was  dark,  except  for  the  faint  glow  here  and  there 
of  a  dying  fire.  Slowly  he  turned  to  the  girls  again, 
until  his  face  was  but  a  few  inches  from  the  one  who 
still  kept  her  presence  of  mind. 

"  I  am  a  white  man,"  he  whispered.  "  Hush  ! 
keep  still.  This  dress  is  a  disguise.  Follow  me, 
and  I  will  get  you  away.      Will  you?     Speak  softly." 

He  saw  her  eyes  brighten  and  her  lips  quiver. 
She  drew  a  long  trembling  breath,  and  whispered 
back,  — 

"Who  are  you?"  She  was  evidently  incredulous 
about  his  white  blood. 

"  Nat  Worsley,  sheep-man.  New  Mexico.  A  cowboy 
brought  news  of  you.     He  is  Avaiting  Avith  horses." 


ARAPAHOE    CAMP.  33 

A  change  came  into  lier  face.  ''We  will  come 
gladly.     But  mv  sister  has  fainted." 

This  was  a^^•kwa^d. 

"Bring  her  to  while  I  see  if  the  way  is  clear. 
Tell  her — tell  her  that  if  she  had  nerves  like  yours 
there  would  be  no  dano-er  at  all."' 

He  crept  away  into  the  darkness  and  vanished. 

The  recovery  of  the  insensible  girl  was  soon  ac- 
complished, and  at  tlie  word  -rescue"  she  became 
all  animation. 

But  when  many  minutes  passed,  —  to  the  girls  it 
seemed  like  hours.  —  and  he  did  not  come  ao-ain.  the 
one  who  had  fainted  lost  faith. 

"Maizie,  you  must  have  been  dreaming.  I  don't 
believe  I  really  fainted  at  all." 

"  Hush,  dear ;  we  must  not  talk.  I  hope  no  harm 
has  happened  to  him.     Oh.  look  I  there  he  is !  " 

With  slow,  measured  movements  a  figure  closely 
wrapped  in  a  blanket  glided  up  to  the  nearest  camp- 
fire  and  warmed  its  hands.  It  stood  there  motionless 
nearly  a  minute,  and  the  girls  saw  that  by  a  move- 
ment of  its  feet,  it  was  scattering  the  embers  of  the 
fire  and  coverino-  them  over  with  earth.  In  a  verv 
short  time  the  spot  was  in  complete  darkness,  and 
Maizie  felt  his  breath  in  her  face. 

D 


34  A    SON    OF    THE   PLAINS. 

"Are  you  ready?  Don't  speak;  just  stand  up  and 
hold  out  your  hands." 

The  girls  obeyed,  and  as  they  felt  the  clasp  of 
strong  fingers,  a  feeling  of  confidence  and  hope 
warmed  their  hearts.  Nat,  however,  gave  them  little 
time  for  reflection.  He  thrust  the  end  of  a  rolled 
blanket  into  Maizie's  hand  and  whispered,  "  Pass 
this  to  your  sister.  She  must  hold  it  tightly  while 
you  take  the  middle  and  I  lead.  If  you  are  scared 
or  wish  to  stop,  give  the  blanket  a  jerk,  and  I  shall 
know  what  it  means.  But  don't  speak  or  cry  out  — 
not  the  faintest  whisper.     Now  !  " 

He  began  to  walk  on  very  slowly,  the  girls  follow- 
ing and  holding  the  blanket  as  drowning  men  clutch 
at  a  rope.  As  they  proceeded  the  pace  grew  brisker. 
Sometimes  they  wound  in  and  out  of  trees  which 
their  clothes  brushed  against ;  at  others  they  passed 
over  tliick  grass,  by  camp-fires,  near  which  lay  dark 
figures  buried  in  sleep.  But  they  never  paused  an 
instant  until  the  breeze  which  blows  at  night  over 
the  open  prairie  cooled  their  heated  faces. 

Here  Nat  stopped,  and  touched  their  hands  re- 
assuringly. 

"Our  first  danger  is  over.  We  are  out  of  the 
camp.       But    the    scouts   have   to   be   passed.       Rest 


ARAPAHOE    CAMP.  35 

here  while  I  prospect  again.  I  will  spread  the 
blanket  for  you  —  so ;  now  lie  clown  and  pull  it 
over  your  faces.  Don't  move  until  you  hear  my 
voice  again.  If  a  scout  sees  you,  he  will  take 
you  to  he  two  warriors  sleeping  out." 

His   voice   ceased,   and  the   girls    were    alone   once 
more. 


CHAPTER   III. 


BESCUED. 


The  girls  lay  still  as  tliey  were  bidden  for  fif- 
teen minutes,  wrapped  up  in  the  blanket.  But 
human  endurance  has  limits,  and  on  this  hot  night 
it  was  so  much  like  premature  burial  that  at  the  end 
of  the  quarter  of  an  hour,  Bel,  the  younger  of  the 
sisters,  despite  a  remonstrance  from  her  companion, 
extricated  her  head  for  a  moment  and  took  a  long 
breath  of  fresh  air.  To  her  horror  she  saAV  a  pair 
of  shining  eyes  within  a  few  inches  of  her  face,  and 
something  cold  and  clammy  touched  her  forehead. 
This  was  more  than  the  excitable  girl  could  bear, 
and  she  threw  aside  the  blanket  with  a  suppressed 
scream.  Whereupon  a  furry  body  fawned  upon  her 
with  reassuring  whines.  It  was  a  dog.  At  the  same 
moment  Nat  came  up  at  a  run.  The  dog  sprang  to 
meet  him  with  a  whine  of  joy. 

"Down,  Shep!"  the  girls  heard   him  say  in  a  deep 

36 


RESCUED.  37 

whisper  wliich  made  the  animal  cower  at  his  feet ; 
"you  have  done  for  us,  boy."  Then  to  the  girls  as 
cahnly  as  though  nothing  had  happened,  — 

.  "  Get  up,  please,  and  give  me  the  blanket.  They 
Avill  have  heard  you,  and  we  must  run  as  long  as 
you  have  any  breath.  The  horses  are  near.  Shep, 
follow  and  guard." 

The  girls  obeyed  with  feverish  haste,  and  set  off 
at  their  utmost  speed,  holding  Nat's  hands  so  as  not 
to  be  se2)arated  in  the  darkness,  the  dog  trotting 
behind,  snuffing  the  air  uneasily  as  he  ran.  This 
violent  exertion,  however,  soon  began  to  tell  upon 
the  girls,  tired  and  overwrought  as  they  were,  and 
before  long,  Maizie,  the  weaker  of  the  two,  stumbled, 
caught  her  foot  in  a  prairie-dog  hole,  and  fell  on 
her  face.  Nat  said  nothing,  but  picked  her  up  and, 
carrying  her  in  his  arms  as  if  she  were  a  baby, 
ran  on,  faster  than  before.  A  few  minutes  later 
and  Bel's  breath  failed  her. 

"  I  cannot  run  any  more,"  she  panted  out,  with  a 
sob.     "  Oh,  what  shall    I    do  ?  " 

Nat  pulled  up. 

"  Stay  here,  and  I  will  come  back  for  you.  Shep 
—  lie  down  !" 

He  was  gone,  and  Bel  was  left  witli  the  dog.     For 


38  A   SON    OF    THE   PLAINS. 

a  moment  slie  felt  the  relief  of  the  rest,  but  the  next 
horrible  fears  seized  her  of  being  pounced  upon 
by  the  Indians  and  carried  away  alone  to  unknown 
tortures,  and  she  had  to  press  her  teeth  together 
and  clench  her  hands  with  all  her  might  to  keep 
back  an  almost  irresistible  inclination  to  cry  out. 

Her  only  comfort  was  Shep.  She  made  a  move- 
ment to  caress  him  —  then  shrank  back  in  dismay. 
The  animal  was  quivering  all  over,  and  even  in  the 
darkness  she  could  see  his  teeth  gleam  white.  As 
she  touched  him  he  dashed  forward  with  a  low 
growl,  and  she  heard  the  grunt  of  an  Indian,  the  fall  of 
a  heavy  body,  and  the  worrying  snarl  of  a  dog  when 
he  bites  to  the  bone.  The  girl,  nearly  beside  herself, 
sprang  to  her  feet  and  was  about  to  run  wildly  away, 
when  a  figure  glided  up,  a  familiar  voice  said,  "Keep 
still,"  and  she  knew  that  her  protector  had  returned. 
She  dropped  on  her  knees  and  listened.  Again  came 
the  soft  thud  of  something  heavy  falling  on  the  grass, 
followed  this  time  by  a  ghastly  rattling  sound,  and 
then  a  silence  that  was  worst  of  all.  The  outline  of 
an  Indian's  head-dress  now  towered  above  her,  a  hand 
was  laid  on  her  shoulder,  and  she  shrieked  aloud. 

"It  is  me,"  said  the  voice  again,  and  Bel  felt  her- 
self   lifted    from    the    ground,    and    knew    that    her 


RESCUED.  39 

rescuer  was  running  at  headlong  speed  downhill. 
A  few  more  breathless  minutes  and  she  heard  ]Maizie's 
voice,  and  kncAV  that  she  was  safe.  But,  now,  only  a 
few  hundred  yards  away  there  came  a  loud,  shrill 
cry  —  the  call  of  the  Arapahoe  scout,  followed 
almost  instantaneously  by  a  chorus  of  yells,  as  the 
whole  encampment  awoke  to  a  man. 

Nat  spoke  to  Maizie.     '^  Can  you  Loth  ride  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes  —  anything  I  " 

Xo  more  words  were  needed.  In  a  twinkling  the 
girls  were  lifted  u^Don  the  ponies  which  the  cowboy 
had  been  holding,  and  the  next  minute  all  were  speed- 
ing away  for  the  east  at  a  swift  gallop,  Xat  leading 
the  way.  This  wild  race  lasted  an  hour,  and  then 
Nat  pulled  in,  and  all  stood  still,  panting,  ^^•hile  he 
listened. 

"It  is  all  right,"  he  said  quietly,  swinging  himself 
again  into  the  saddle;   ''we  may  now  go   easily." 

Two  hours  afterwards  they  reached  the  camp,  and 
were  received  by  Seb  Bean  with  a  shout  of  wel- 
come. 

The  dawn  Avas  breaking,  and  for  the  first  time  they 
could  see  one  another  distinctly.  A  sudden  shyness 
fell  upon  them  all.  Nat,  without  speaking,  placed 
his  guests  by  the   fire,    and   set   the    cowboy    to   pre- 


40  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

paring  breakfast,  then  bolted  into  the  wagon  to  strip 
off  his  disguise.  Little  had  he  dreamed  when  he 
picked  it  up  six  months  before,  to  take  as  a  curiosity 
to  St.  Louis,  Avhat  purpose  it  would  serve  so  soon. 

When  he  reappeared,  he  had  donned  a  suit  of  grey 
buckskin  —  the  best  clothes  he  had  —  a  cotton  shirt 
instead  of  a  grey  flannel  one,  and  a  new  hat  with 
a  stiff  brim. 

No  one  was  more  astonished  at  such  a  chauQfe  than 
the  old  herder.  The  girls,  who  had  made  friends  with 
Seb  at  once,  and  were  helping,  in  spite  of  all  he  could 
do  or  say,  to  cook  the  breakfast,  were  so  much  amused 
at  the  blank  expression  of  his  face,  that  they  sur- 
prised Nat  by  their  brightness.  He  had  expected  to 
find  them  cowering  disconsolately  over  the  fire,  and 
had  perplexed  himself  greatly  as  he  dressed  to  think 
of  some  way  in  which  he  could  lessen  their  anxiety 
and  awaken  enough  confidence  in  himself  to  make  a 
scheme  he  had  thought  of  acceptable  to  them. 

And  now  —  lo,  they  greeted  him  with  smiles,  and 
so  far  from  cowering  over  the  fire  had  aided  Seb  so 
well  that  breakfast  was  ready  and  waiting.  But 
Nat's  surprise  at  the  cheerfulness  of  his  guests  was 
nothing  to  Seb's  astonishment  at  Nat.  If  he  were 
puzzled  at  the  change  Nat  had  made  in  his    outward 


RESCUED.  41 

appearance,  lie    was    absolutely    '•  dumf oimdered "    at 
what  happened  afterwards. 

It  had  always  been  a  grief  to  him.  when  he  began 
to  grow  fond  of  Xat,  to  notice  the  tacitui-nity  of  the 
lad  and  the  almost  Indian  immobility  of  his  face  and 
manner.  He  had  remarked  that  strangers  who  met 
him  were  unfavourably  impressed,  and  had  wondered 
what  would  become  of  him  in  the  East,  where  such 
ways  were  more  foreign  and  unacceptable  than  in 
the  silent  "West. 

After  to-day  he  troubled  himself  on  that  score  no 
more. 

For  Xat  talked.  All  through  breakfast,  which 
lasted  three  times  as  long  as  such  a  meal  liad  ever 
lasted  before,  he  never  stopped  talking  except  to 
listen  to  the  observations  of  his  visitors.  He  apolo- 
gised for  the  rough  fare  he  had  to  offer  them,  and 
for  the  lack  of  spoons  and  forks.  He  talked  about 
Xew  Mexico,  and  found  that  he  had  tramped  through 
the  county  where  their  father  lived,  and  had  heard 
his  name.  He  did  not  touch  once  upon  past  dangers 
or  future  contingencies.  His  object  was  to  make 
them  feel  at  ease  ;  for  after  the  first  greeting  he 
detected  a  strained,  anxious  expression  on  the  face 
of  the   elder   o-irl.  and   noticed   that    the    laughter    of 


42  A    SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

the    younger    was    on    the    verge    of    bacoming    hys- 
tericaL 

It  is  an  instinct  with  some  men  to  know  what  to 
do  under  such  circumstances.  If  Nat  had  been  asked 
afterwards  to  repeat  what  he  had  said,  he  coukl  not 
have  done  it  to  save  his  life.  But  he  accomplished 
his  purpose,  and  by  the  time  that  Seb,  with  an 
awkward  duck  of  his  head,  and  mumbled  excuse, 
strode  off  at  a  seven-leagued-boot  pace  to  bring  his 
sheep  up  to  the  trail,  the  girls,  though  still  pale  and 
tired,  were  much  more  tranquil,  and  they  talked  to 
Nat  as  freely  as  if  they  had  known  him  all  their 
lives. 

Nat  had  given  whispered  instructions  to  Seb  in  a 
pause  of  the  conversation,  and  it  only  remained  now 
to  sound  his  guests.  He  did  this  in  a  few  blunt 
words,  his  fluency  of  speech  suddenly  deserting  him. 
But  he  had  won  their  confidence,  and  might  use 
what  words  he  pleased.  In  the  space  of  ten  minutes 
everything  was  arranged.  The  cowboy  was  to  start 
immediately  for  the  west,  bearing  letters  from  the 
girls  to  their  father,  telling  him  of  what  had  hap- 
pened, and  that  they  would  travel  to  Seckersburg 
under  Nat's  escort,  making  their  journey  back  to 
New   Mexico   by   coach.     It   was   a   choice    of    evils. 


RESCUED.  43 

The  Arapalioes,  searching  far  and  wide  for  their  lost 
captives,  might  very  probably  keep  a  watch  upon  the 
trail  and  stop  the  wagon  that  day.  At  the  same 
time  the  girls  were  not  strong  enough  to  endure 
hard  riding  westw^ard,  nor  were  they  at  all  willing 
to  undertake  it  under  the  cowboy's  protection,  while 
even  if  it  had  been  possible  for  Xat  to  turn  back 
with  his  sheep,  so  slowly  does  a  flock  travel,  and 
so  fast  do  Indians  ride,  that  there  would  be  even 
less  safety  in   that   course  than  to   push  eastwards. 

By  the  time  the  sun  had  risen  an  hour,  the  cow- 
boy had  departed  west  with  outward  regret  and  in- 
ward joy  :  the  sheep,  under  Seb's  care,  were  half  a 
mile  on  the  trail  travelling  briskly,  while  Nat,  hav- 
ino'  made  his  ladies  as  comfortable  as  he  could  in  the 
wagon  among  the  stores,  had  broken  up  his  camp 
and  was  also  well  upon  the  way. 

All  conversation  had  died  a  natural  death.  The 
younger  INIiss  Shelford  almost  immediately  fell  asleep, 
while  the  elder,  seating  herself,  for  reasons  of  her  own, 
so  that  she  could  watch  the  driver's  face,  was  pon- 
dering upon  the  adventures  of  the  preceding  twenty- 
four  hours,  and  possible  dangers  in  the  future. 

;Maizie  Shelford  was  a  reserved  and  thoughtftil 
girl.      Careless    observers,    impressed   with   Bel's    soft 


44  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

brown  eyes,  tall,  well-developed  figure,  and  constant 
animation  of  spirits,  scarcely  saAV  her  quiet  sister,  and 
would  hardly  believe  that  she  was  the  elder  by  two 
years.  Those  accustomed  to  look  below  the  surface, 
however,  remarked  that  while  Maizie's  stature  was 
insignificant  compared  to  Bel's,  her  face  less  expres- 
sive as  a  rule,  and  her  manner  uiidemonstrative,  yet 
her  large  eyes  looked  with  a  keen  directness  into  all 
things ;  though  she  seldom  spoke,  the  Avords  she  said 
were  always  to  the  point ;  and  that  when  she  smiled, 
her  face  held  a  beauty  of  its  own  in  spite  of  irregu- 
larity of  feature. 

But  there  were  not  many  people  who  saw  these 
things  ;  for  the  sisters  were  seldom  apart,  and  in 
Bel's  presence  it  was  Maizie's  custom  to  say  as  little 
as  possible,  from  a  feeling  keen  even  to  morbidness 
that  she  was  dull  and  uninteresting  and  must  be  sec- 
ond, always,  to  her  brilliant  young  sister.  It  must 
be  added  in  justice  to  Bel  that  she  never  intended 
this  to  be  so.  There  was  perfect  love  and  under- 
standing between  them,  and  to  make  any  slighting 
allusion  to  Maizie  in  Bel's  hearing  would  be  a 
blunder  that  no  man  or  Avoman  Avould  ever  commit 
twice.  But  people  formed  tlieir  opinions  neverthe- 
less, and  the  feeling  of  the  girls'  friends  Avhen  they 


RESCUED.  45 

decided  to  leave  St.  Louis,  where  tliey  had  been 
brought  up  since  cliiklhood,  to  take  care  of  their 
father  in  Xew  ^Mexico,  was  nearly  unanimous. 
Maizie  ought  to  go,  —  it  was  her  duty,  for  poor  Mr. 
Shelf ord  was  alone,  —  but  for  Bel  to  throw  herself 
away  in  that  horrid  wild  country  was  something 
almost  sinful.     It  was  a  social  catastrophe. 

In  the  stress  of  that  terrible  night  in  the  Ara- 
pahoe camp  the  position  of  the  sisters  had  been 
reversed,  and  IN'at  would  have  laughed  if  any  one 
had  suggested  that  Bel  was  the  elder  sister.  The 
circumstances  of  his  life  had  made  him  more  observ- 
ant than  most  young  men  of  the  little  things  that 
make  up  character,  and  he  smiled  as  he  urged  on  his 
horses,  to  see  this  pale  little  woman  keenly  watching 
him,  while  her  sister  slept  like  a  tired  child. 

Nat  was  right.  Maizie,  though  very  grateful  for 
his  ser^^ces,  and  confident  that  the  only  course  was 
to  place  herself  and  Bel  under  his  protection,  was 
yet  very  much  alive  to  the  fact  that  his  character 
and  future  intentions  were  entirely  unknown  to 
her  ;  and  Maizie  was  one  of  those  people  who  do  not 
easily  trust  a  stranger. 

Therefore  she  refused  to  allow  herself  to  go  to 
sleep,   though  she   sorely  wanted  to   do   so  ;    and   sit- 


46  A    SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

ting  stiffly  on  a  sack  of  green  coffee-berries,  her 
back  supported  by  a  large  keg  in  which  Nat  kept  a 
store  of  drinking  water  in  case  of  need,  she  took 
mental  note  of  the  face  before  her. 

It  was  hard,  almost  forbidding,  now  that  it  was 
in  repose.  The  lips  were  habitually  pressed  together, 
and  the  corners  of  the  mouth  drawn  down,  giving  a 
certain  sardonic  expression,  as  if  in  his  o2)inion  the 
world  were  a  poor  sort  of  place  and  the  people  in  it 
mostly  fools. 

Maizie  remembered  seeing  much  the  same  look  in 
the  face  of  the  friend  of  her  father's  who  was  killed 
by  the  Arapahoes.  It  might  be  the  characteristic 
expression  of  Western  men.  If  so,  she  thought,  she 
did  not  care  for  Western  men.  His  nose  was  slightly 
hooked,  and,  with  the  brightness  of  his  eyes,  gave 
him  a  peculiarly  alert  look.  Maizie  liked  this  ;  and 
wdien  he  smiled,  she  liked  the  expression  of  his  eyes, 
but  the  moment  he  became  grave  again  they  were 
cold,  watchful,  and  repellent. 

Just  now  they  were  especially  watchful,  and  from 
speculations  upon  Nat's  character  Maizie  began  to 
speculate  upon  his  thoughts,  and  with  a  little  inter- 
nal shiver  recollected  that  at  any  moment  they  might 
be    met    by    Indians,  furious   at   the   escape   of   their 


RESCUED.  47 

prisoners,  and  eager  to  gain  compensation  by  vio- 
lence upon  the  next  \yliite  man  tliey  saw.  The  near- 
ness of  clanger  gave  a  new  turn  to  her  reflections, 
and  with  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  Maizie  remem- 
bered that  by  assuming  the  responsibility  of  their 
escort,  this  man  she  had  been  so  sharply  judging 
had  incurred  a  most  fearful  risk.  Yet  he  had  not 
allowed  the  slightest  indication  of  this  fact  to 
appear.  On  the  contrary,  he  had  said  it  was  a 
great  favour  on  their  part  to  consent  to  come  with 
him. 

The  day  wore  on.  It  was  nearly  noon  and  very 
hot.  Bel  still  slept,  and  even  Maizie  found  herself 
beginning  to  nod  drowsily.  Nat  alone  was  wide 
awake.  His  hard  training  and  present  anxiety  were 
sure  safeguards  against  sleepiness,  and  not  a  prairie 
dog  scuttling  to  and  fro  on  business,  nor  an  inch  of 
the  horizon  line  to  the  north  and  west,  escaped  his 
eyes. 

The  time  came  at  length  when  Nat,  seeing  what 
he  had  been  expecting  to  see,  laid  his  hands  on  tlie 
reins  and  pulled  up.  Maizie  roused  herself  with  a 
start,  and  saw  him  standing  on  the  footboard,  shading 
his  eyes  with  his  hands.  Nat's  face  Avas  as  quiet  as 
usual  w^hen   he   turned   toward   her,  but   she   noticed 


48  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

that  the  lines  about  his  mouth  had  hardened  and 
deepened.  He  looked  as  if  he  had  suddenly  grown 
older. 

"Is  it  —  Indians?"  she  whispered,  speaking  under 
her  breath  so  as  not  to  awaken   Bel. 

"A  scout  is  lying  on  the  hill." 

"What  can  we  do?" 

In  spite  of  her  courage  and  confidence  Maizie  was 
as  white  as  a  sheet.  Nat's  voice  became  as  tender  as 
a  woman's. 

"  There  is  no  danger  yet.  Hide  yourself  and 
your  sister  under  these  felts  and  blankets,  so  that 
they'll  find  nothing  but  stores  if  they  peep  in. 
Remember  the  risk  is  not  so  great  as  in  their  camp. 
Cheer  up  !   we  shall  pull  through." 

"  But  they  will  take  everything  as  they  did  yester- 
day." 

"  I  think  not.  My  outfit  is  not  worth  enough  to 
tempt  them  as  long  as  they  do  not  see  you.  Quick, 
here  they  come.  Ah,  they  have  split  up  into  search- 
ing parties,  for  there  are  only  twenty  here.  That  is 
right  —  the  sack  of  flour  at  her  feet  looks  well  ;  and 
the  water  barrel  hides  her  head.  Leave  it  to  me, 
now,  and  lie  down.  I'll  lay  the  sheepskins  across 
you.     That   makes    it    natural.      Hand    me    my    shot- 


r.EscuED.  49 

gmi  —  take  care  of  tlie  triggers,  she's  loaded,  both 
l)arrels.  AVill  yuur  sister  wake  ?  that  is  tlie  point. 
If  there's  a  cliance  of  it  you  had  better  rouse  her 
first.      I  leave  it  to  your  judgment." 

While  he  Avas  speaking,  Nat  deftly  turned  and 
twisted  the  coverings  in  the  wagon,  until  every 
trace  of  the  girls'  presence  was  concealed.  He  was 
about  to  return  to  his  place  when  Maizie  raised  her 
head,  and  whispered,  — 

"  You  must  give  me  a  knife;  they  shall  never 
take  us  alive  again." 

Nat  started,  and  took  from  his  pocket  a  tiny 
five-chambered  pistol. 

"Use  this  if  I  drop,  but  not  while  I'm  alive.  I 
will  not  leave  the  wagon,  and  if  there's  no  hope 
you  will  hear  me  say  'fire.'  Then  —  let  go,  just 
below  the  heart.     It  is  double-action  —  take  care." 

Maizie  took  the  pistol  and  their  hands  met.  A 
deep  flush  mounted  to  Xat's  forehead,  and  for  a 
moment  he  looked  at  her  with  moist  eyes.  ]\Iaizie 
looked  back  at  him  trustingly  like  a  child. 
''I  will  be  very  careful.'"  she  said  softly,  and 
smiled.  That  smile  will  abide  with  Xat  and  haunt 
his  dreams  to  his  dying  day. 

All  was  over  in  an  instant;    and   Xat   SA^iing   back 


50  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

to  Ids  seat  and  Maizie  disappeared  under  lier  blanket. 
The  Indians  were  there. 

To  Maizie,  though  she  had  many  things  to  suffer 
in  after  days,  nothing,  in  point  of  sheer  horror  and 
sickening  suspense,  was  ever  worse  than  the  time 
that  followed.  She  was  able  to  hear  distinctly  all 
that  went  on,  and,  buried  under  ill-smelling  sheep- 
skins and  heavy  blankets,  suffered  agonies  of  acute 
helpless  suspense.  First  came  the  soft  tread  of  the 
galloping  unshod  Indian  ponies  ;  the  jar  of  the 
wagon  as  Nat,  who  had  resumed  his  journey,  pulled 
up  his  excited,  snorting  team.  Then  they  were  sur- 
rounded and  the  crisis  had  come.  There  was  a 
deep  silence,  and  Maizie's  heart  beat  so  heavily  that 
she  was  afraid  it  would  wake  Bel.  It  was  a  relief 
when  she  heard  one  of  the  Indians  address  Nat  in 
Spanish.  Maizie's  childhood  had  been  passed  among 
Mexicaiis,  and  she  remembered  enough  Spanish  to 
understand  what  followed. 

"  Are  you  sheep-man  ? "  she  heard  the   Indian   say. 

"  Yes,  and  alone." 

"Your  wagon  very  big  for  one." 

"  I  come  a  long  way,  and  carry  much  food." 

"Open  wagon,  and  let  me  see  your  food." 

Maizie's  heart  nearly  stopped  beating  altogether. 


RESCUED,  51 

''What  is  that  for?" 

"  "We  have  lost  somethinof.  and  look  in  all  wagr- 
ons  on  the  road  to-day.     Open,  quick  I  " 

"  Very  well,"  rejoined  Nat  in  a  very  slow,  de- 
liberate tone.  "You  may  look,  and  AVLdcome.  But 
see  here,  amigo,"  his  voice  deepened  now,  and 
Maizie  distinctlv  heard  the  click  of  the  dos^-heads  as 
he  cocked  his  shot-gun,  "I  have  no  stolen  goods 
in  my  outfit,  and  I  am  not  going  to  have  my  things 
thrown  about,  not  for  all  the  Arapahoes  alive.  So, 
look  in  as  much  as  you  like  —  but  keej)  yoiu'  hands 
to  yourselves." 

The  only  reply  the  Indian  made  was  a  grunt,  and 
then  the  wagon  creaked  and  shook  beneath  his 
weight.  At  this  precise  moment  Bel  began  to 
breathe  less  regularly  as  if  she  were  on  the  point 
of  awakening.  ]Maizie's  suffering,  now,  cannot  be 
described.  She  kncAv  that  the  Indian's  sharp  eyes 
were  searching  every  nook  and  cranny,  and  that  the 
slightest  movement  would  be  utter  ruin.  She  kept 
trying  to  remember  where  she  had  put  her  hat. 
The  sight  of  that  would  be  enough  to  betray  every- 
thing, for  she  had  worn  it  when  taken  prisoner  the 
day  before.  The  air  grew  hotter,  the  sheepskins 
more    stifling,   and   Maizie   felt    as    if   her  brain  were 


62  A   SON   OF  THE  PLAINS. 

turning.  A  fear  oppressed  her  now  that  she  would 
move  herself — Bel  was  sleeping  still.  Suddenly 
everything  grew  dark.  She  heard  afar  off  the  sound 
of  voices,  there  was  a  rushing  in  her  ears,  and  then 
—  a  blank.  Human  nature  could  bear  no  more,  and 
Maizie  had  fainted. 

But  the  danger  was  over.  The  Indian  who 
looked  in  was  satisfied  with  his  inspection,  and  the 
rest,  impressed  by  Nat's  stoical  calmness  of  manner, 
and  well  aware  of  the  qualities  of  a  shot-gun  at 
close  quarters,  after  a  few  words  together  departed 
in  a  northwesterly  direction,  disappeared  behind  a 
roll  of  prairie,  and  were  seen  no  more. 

The  removal  of  the  skins  and  blankets  and  a  few 
drops  of  water  sprinkled  on  her  forehead  soon 
brought  Maizie  round,  and  the  wagon  resumed  its 
journey  at  a  brisk  pace.  That  evening  a  pleasant 
camping-ground  was  taken  up  on  the  shores  of  a 
tributary  of  the  Arkansas  River,  and  after  an  un- 
disturbed night  the  travellers  started  on  their  way 
the  next  morning  refreshed,  and  in  cheerful  spirits. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

"KOAD    AGENTS." 

The  journey  in  a  wagon  over  prairie  is  very 
miicli  like  a  long  sea  voyage.  In  both  cases  there 
is  no  change  of  surroundings  from  clay  to  day,  and 
people  have  so  much  of  one  another's  company  that 
the  most  distant  acquaintance  at  the  beginning 
ripens  into  intimate  friendship  before  the  end,  and 
they  seem  to  know  more  of  one  another  in  a  few 
days  than  under  other  circumstances  would  be  the 
case  in  a  year. 

In  a  week  after  the  night  in  the  Arapahoe  camp 
Nat  learnt  all  the  family  history  of  Maizie  and  Bel, 
and  they  had  heard  as  much  as  he  could  tell  them 
of  himself.  In  two  weeks  they  were  calling  one 
another  by  their  christian  names,  and  were  as 
brother  and  sisters. 

By  this  time  the  outskirts  of  civilization  were 
reached    and    the    talk    round    the    camp-hre    in    the 

63 


54  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

evenings  changed  from  reminiscences  of  the  past  to 
plans  for  the  future.  A  great  change  had  taken 
place  in  Nat's  ideas.  St.  Louis  and  Eastern  civiliza- 
tion were  all  very  well,  and  might  be  realised  some 
day,  but  for  the  present  they  were  out  of  the 
question.  The  reason  why  Mr.  Dan  Shelford  had 
objected  to  his  daughters  going  by  stage  through 
Southern  Colorado,  and  had  insisted  upon  the  jour- 
ney over  the  trail,  was  a  dread  of  "  road  agents  "  or 
coach-robbers,  who  were  very  active  in  that  part  of 
the  country.  This  being  so,  Nat  felt  that  it  was 
his  duty  to  see  these  adopted  sisters  of  his  safely 
under  their  father's  protection.  He  therefore  de- 
cided to  sell  his  sheep  at  Seckersburg  and  take  the 
stage  for  Chico  Springs,  Calumet  Co.,  New  Mexico. 
After  that  —  well  —  he  might  go  to  St.  Louis  or 
elsewhere.  That  did  not  seem  to  matter  much  just 
now.     The  great  point  was  to  do  his  duty. 

And  the  girls,  after  some  faint  protest  on  Maizie's 
part  but  none  at  all  on  Bel's,  thankfully  accepted 
the  offer  of  escort.  So  the  question  was  settled  to 
the  satisfaction  of  everybody  except  poor  Shep, 
whom  Nat  decided  to  give  to  Seb  Bean. 

On  the  fourteenth  day  of  August,  just  four  weeks 
from    the    evening    in    the    Two    Butte    Creek,   Shep 


"  ROAD    AGENTS."  55 

corralled  in  the  slieep-pens  of  Seckersburg  tlie  flock 
he  had  Ijrought  so  far,  and  followed  his  master  up 
the  principal  street  of  the  city  with  melancholy 
foreboding,  for  Shep  had  a  prophetic  soul,  and 
watched  him  purchase  clothes  of  a  quality  no  sheep- 
dog of  the  plains  in  those  days  had  ever  seen  in  his 

life. 

Seckersburg  City  was  a  place  of  importance  in 
1873  —  more  important  than  it  is  now.  It  was  then 
the  spot  where  Western  stockmen  from  New  :\Iexico, 
Northern  Texas,  and  even  from  Colorado,  brought 
the  produce  of  their  labours  and  met  Iniyers  from 
Chicago,  St.  Louis,  and  elsewhere.  At  the  present 
time  the  railway  enables  producers  to  find  a  sale  in 
their  own  territories,  or  to  ship  flocks  and  herds  in 
the  cars  direct  to  Chicago  ;  and  the  glory  of  Seck- 
ersburg has  departed.  It  has  shared  the  fate  of 
manv  a  town  in  England  forty  years  ago,  when 
coaches  went  out  and  railways  came  in. 

In  18T3,  at  this  time  of  the  year,  it  would  have 
been  hard  to  find  a  brisker  place  than  Seckersburg. 
There  were  houses  of  wood  and  houses  of  adobe  (Mexi- 
can brick),  shops  in  abundance  with  enormous  sign- 
boards, broad  sandy  streets,  with  the  inevitable  ''  side- 
walk "'of  roughly  laid  phmks,   over  which  passed  all 


56  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

day  long  a  constant  stream  of  persons  of  every  shade 
of  colour,  while  outside  the  town,  and  dominating 
all  else,  Avas  a  net-work  of  corrals  for  horses,  cattle, 
and  sheep. 

Such  a  place  as  this  was  very  strange  to  Nat  and  not 
at  all  pleasant.  The  noise  of  many  tongues  and  the 
constant  rattle  of  vehicles  was  wearing  to  his  nerves, 
though  he  would  not  OAvn  it.  The  girls,  also, 
though  thankful  to  sleep  once  more  in  a  bed  and 
able  to  make  good  the  ravages  —  too  terrible  for  a 
masculine  pen  to  describe  —  sustained  by  their  ward- 
robe, were  very  glad  when  Nat  on  the  third  day 
announced  with  unusual  animation  of  manner  that 
he  had  concluded  a  bargain  for  his  sheep,  wagon, 
and  horses  for  ^GOOO,  cash  down,  and  was  ready  to 
book  seats  in  the  Las  Animas  coach  two  days  hence. 

It  was  an  extraordinary  stroke  of  luck ;  but  there 
were  many  things  in  Nat's  favour.  Bel,  who  had 
the  knack  of  making  friends  wherever  she  might  be, 
had  told  the  landlady  of  the  hotel  the  whole  story 
of  their  adventures,  and  before  noon  the  next  day 
old  Seb  Bean  was  waylaid  by  the  editor  of  the 
"  Seckersburo^  Alarum  "  and  turned  inside  out  before 
he  knew  it.  The  next  morning  articles  appeared 
which  curdled  the  blood  of   the  surrounding   i)opula 


"  ROAD   AGE^'T5.  O  . 

tion  for  a  month  to  come,  and  would  have  proved 
a  bad  busmess  to  that  editor  if  Nat  had  been 
aware  of  half  of  what  was  set  forth. 

Tlie  immediate  effect,  however,  of  all  this  was 
to  enliance  the  value  of  his  property,  especially 
as  the  sheep  were  in  far  better  condition,  thanks 
to  Seb  Bean's  excellent  driving,  than  most  of  the 
flocks  on  sale.  But  no  advantage  is  without  its 
seamy  side,  and  the  notoriety  which  put  at  least 
81500  into  Nat's  pocket  very  nearly  caused  him  to 
lose  evervthinof. 

Most  men  lose  their  heads  a  little  when  am-thing 
of  this  sort  happens  to  them.  Those  who  do  not 
are  liable  to  disregard  too  much  the  new  circum- 
stances in  which  they  find  themselves  placed.  Xat 
was  one  of  the  latter.  Thousfh  wherever  he  went 
people  flattered  and  caressed  him.  though  the  hotel- 
keeper,  when  he  heard  he  was  leaving  so  soon,  ofl:ered 
liim  free  quarters  for  a  month.  Xat  went  about  as 
unconcernedly  as  the  most  insignificant  man  in  town. 
Xor  did  he  think  twice  about  the  possible  conse- 
quences of  the  canvassing  abroad  of  his  affaii*s,  finan- 
cial and  otherwise,  and  before  the  seats  in  the  Western 
stage  were  booked,  all  Seeker sburg  knew  that  at  6 
o'clock  in  the    morning   of   the   ISth   of   August  Xat 


58  A   SON   OF   TFIE   PLAINS. 

was  starting  for  New  Mexico  with  86000  on  his 
person,  having  refused  with  a  frontiersman's  sim- 
plicity the  offer  of  the  bank  which  paid  him  the  money 
to  give  liim  a  draft  payable  at  their  bank  in  Trinidad, 
Southern  Colorado. 

There  was  another  reason  besides  ignorance  for 
Nat's  want  of  caution  in  this  matter.  He  was  in 
great  anxiety  about  his  old  herder.  For  poor  Seb, 
after  superhuman  efforts  to  keep  sober  the  first  day, 
yielded  on  the  second  without  a  struggle,  and  was 
discovered  by  Nat,  after  a  long  search,  drinking 
brandy  undiluted  among  a  crowd  of  saloon  bummers, 
who  were  waiting  like  vultures  round  a  dying  lion 
to  strip  him  of  everything  he  possessed  as  soon  as 
the  spirit  had  done  its  work. 

Out  of  this  crowd  Nat  dragged  him  Avith  some 
difficulty,  and  at  considerable  risk  to  himself ;  and, 
seeing  no  other  way  of  dealing  with  the  man,  took 
him  to  his  own  room  at  the  hotel,  put  him  to  bed, 
and  locked  him  in. 

The  next  day  Seb  expressed  great  repentance,  but 
Nat,  knowing  the  way  of  drunkards,  refused  to  let 
him  out  of  his  sight  for  a  moment.  By  this  means 
he  hoped  to  save  his  old  friend,  for  Mr.  Tom  Cobbett, 
the  buyer  of   the  sheep,   had  taken   a   fancy   to   him 


"ROAD   AGENTS."  69 

and  had  engaged  liini  to  drive  the  flock  to  his  ranche 
fifty  miles  north,  on  the  day  Nat  departed  westward. 

So  Bean  was  kept  under  strict  supervision  until 
bedtime  on  the  last  evening.  That  night  he  was  to 
sleep  by  his  sheep  at  the  other  end  of  the  town ; 
Shep  with  him  securely  tied  up  in  case  of  accidents. 

Seb  nearly  took  Nat  in  his  arms  when  he  said 
good-night. 

"  You've  been  the  best  friend  that  could  be,  and  I 
swear  that  I'll  keep  from  drink  while  I  serve  Cob- 
bett.  I  knoAv  that's  better  gratitood  to  you  than 
words  'ud  be.  I  don'  know  how  rightly  to  thank 
you  for  all  —  specially  that  dog  —  he's  the  best  I 
ever  see.  Good-night.  God  bless  ye,  friend.  I'll 
be  round  prompt  at  sun-up  to  see  the  coach  off  to- 
morrow." 

Another  grip  of  the  hand  and  Seb  went  his  way 
to  bed,  Avhile  Nat,  after  watching  him  a  moment, 
strolled  back  to  the  hotel  and  packed  his  small  trunk, 
and  slept  without  a  break  until  dawn. 

Seb  went  to  his  blankets,  patted  Shep,  who  was 
restless  and  miserable,  and  then  lay  down.  But  he 
could  not  sleep.  He  had  been  drinking  nothing  Ijut 
water  and  coffee  for  three  days,  and  the  craving  for 
liquor  was  strong  upon  him.     He  would  have  resisted 


60  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

it,  though  the  self-control  meant  torture  such  as  no 
one  who  has  not  craved  for  drink  can  conceive,  had 
it  not  been  that  not  very  far  .from  the  corrals  was 
a  saloon  with  o]3en  doors,  from  which  came  the  clink 
of  glasses  and  the  popping  of  corks.  This  was 
too  much  for  Seb.  For  a  long  time  he  lay  writh- 
ing in  an  agony  of  desire,  but  at  length  he  could 
stand  it  no  longer,  and,  perspiring  all  over,  rose  with 
trembling  limbs  a  beaten  man. 

The  "  saloon "  was  one  small  and  dirty  room. 
Seb's  practised  eye  saw  at  once  that  it  was  a  very 
queer  place  indeed,  and  he  determined  to  be  very 
moderate  and  limit  himself  to  two  cocktails.  No 
one  Avas  in  the  room  but  the  bar-keeper  and  two 
or  three  sodden-looking  creatures  who  obsequiously 
made  room  for  him.  Seb  ordered  his  cocktails  in 
one  "long  glass"  and  carried  this  away  to  a  dark 
corner,  sipping  at  it  very  slowly.  But  dark  as  it 
was,  the  sharp-eyed  bar-keeper  noted  well  the  way 
the  old  man  hugged  his  tumbler,  and  before  Seb 
was  half-way  through  his  drink  a  full  bottle  of 
whiskey  had  been  placed  uncorked  as  if  by  accident 
on  the  table  at  his  right  hand.     Seb  shrank  from  it. 

"Take  it  away,  tain't  my  order,"  he  said  angrily 
to  the  bar-keeper.       But  the   man   pretended   not   to 


"ROAD   AGENTS.  61 

hear  him,  and  the  next  moment  a  number  of  men 
crowded  in  hiughing  and  talking,  and  Seb  had  not 
the  courage  to  repeat  his  remonstrance.  But  he  had 
no  intention  of  yiekling.  At  first  he  refused  to 
look  at  the  bottle  at  all,  then,  his  mood  changing, 
he  glared  at  it,  uttering  an  apostrophe  under  his 
breath. 

'*  You  brute  —  would  you  have  me  ?  Xo,  sir,  I  guess 
not.  I  guess  not.  I  feel  right  and  in  three  ticks 
I    walk    out    of    here    as    sober  —  soberer,    I'm    sure, 

than  when  I    came    in.       Stand   there   and  be to 

you.     You  won't  tempt  me." 

He  took  another  sip  of  his  cocktail  and  another 
and  a  third  —  each  more  slowly  than  the  last.  He 
was  getting  very  near  the  end,  and  how  long  —  how 
verv  lonof  —  it  mio*ht  be  before  he  would  taste 
whiskev  agj-ain.  He  o-lanced  sidewavs  at  the  bottle. 
His  eve  cauo-ht  the  label.  It  was  his  favourite 
brand.  He  sighed  a  long  and  heavy  sigh  and  took 
another  sip.     There  was    only  enough  for  two  more. 

The  room  was  quieter  now.  The  men  who  had 
just  come  in  had  seated  themselves  at  a  large  table 
near  Seb's  corner  and  were  talking  in  wliispers. 
They  were  a  rough-looking  set,  and  Seb  noticed 
that  before  they  spoke   a  word  they  glanced  at  him 


62  A    SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

with  suspicion,  until  reassured  by  a  telegraphic 
signal  from  the  bar-keeper.  This  roused  Seb's 
curiosity,  and  he  forgot  for  the  moment  the  arch 
enemy  at  his  elbow,  and  while  aj^pearing  half- 
asleep  listened  intently  to  all  he  could  catch  of  their 
conversation.  At  first  it  was  too  indistinct  for  him 
to  make  anything  of  it.  But  before  long  they 
became  so  interested  that  they  forgot  to  whisper. 
The  first  words  Seb  heard  came  from  a  man  who 
was  evidently  the  leader  of  the  rest.  He  was 
young,  of  strong  frame,  a  swarthy  skin  and  black 
curly  hair.  His  eyes  were  light  brown  like  a  cat's 
and  near  together,  the  rest  of  his  features  coarse  and 
rude,  and,  with  a  flat  nose  and  thick  lips,  hinted  at 
negro  blood. 

Seb,  who  as  an  old  frontiersman,  had  been 
acquainted  with  men  of  the  worst  reputation  from 
Van  Buren  to  Santa  Fe,  identified  this  man  as  soon 
as  he  opened  his  mouth.  It  was  Sandy  Rathlee,  the 
most  skilful  and  desperate  of  road  agents.  The 
man  was  smiling  maliciously,  showing  his  teeth  like 
a  leopard  disturbed  at  meat. 

"  You  boys  are  enough  to  make  one  die  of  laugh- 
ing. Women  —  babies  —  ain't  in  it  with  you  for 
scare   when  you  see  the  chance  of  a  drop  of  blood. 


"ROAD    AGENTS."  63 

This  boy,  I  don't  doubt,  is  quick.  I  ain't  seen  him, 
but  Indian  lighting  is  smart  business.  Yet  he's  one 
and  we  are  six,  A^^ith  Dick  on  the  box  to  make 
seven.  Where  the  risk  comes  in  is  a  puzzle  to 
me." 

"Aye,  that  may  be.  perhaps,"  rejoined  another 
man,  distinguishable  by  having  only  one  eye,  a  long 
white  scar  across  his  left  cheek,  and  no  heels  to  his 
boots.  "But  there's  another  side  to  it,  Sandy  — 
blow  as  you  will.  A  man  with  86000  and  tAvo 
gells  in  hand  ain't  a  lamb  whose  tail  I'd  care  to  try 
twisting.  AVe  ain't  no  more  scared  than  you,  but 
I  sez  and  I  sez  again  Ave  must  heft  all  our  chances 
beforehand.  I  want  to  hear  the  plan  you've  worked 
out  ;  if  I  don't  ap^orove  of  it  you'll  be  five  not  six 
to-morrow." 

Sandy  Rathlee's  ansAver  to  this  suggestion  was  a 
glance  that  gaA'e  him  a  still  greater  likeness  to  an 
angry  leopard  and  a  liint  to  the  speaker  to  remove 
himself  with  all  possible  dispatch.  Tlie  others  neither 
stirred  nor  spoke,  but  two  of  them  nodded  at  the 
one-eyed  man,  who,  thereupon,  chuckled  in  an  aggres- 
si\e  manner. 

Rathlee's  face  changed  at  once.  He  became  as  mild 
as  a  purring  cat. 


64  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

"We  waste  time,  boys,  fooling.  Of  course  you 
sliall  heft  all  chances.  See  here:  Clinter\s  Ford  is 
the  place  I  fixed  on.  It's  a  soft  bit  at  tlie  bottom 
of  a  steep  hill,  you  know  it?  Driver  Dick  will 
handle  his  mules  so  that  the  wheels  get  stuck  in 
the  sand.  The  passengers  will  be  ordered  out  to 
ease  the  coach,  and  as  they  come  out  we  take 
them.  See  ?  I'll  hold  the  Comanche  myself,  and 
leave  the  tenderfeet  and  the  two  outside  men  to 
the   rest    of   ye.     How's   that,    Ned?" 

Ned,    the    one-eyed   man,    grunted. 

''  Healthy  enough,  boss,  the  way  you  word  it.  When 
it  comes  to  doing,  knots  in  the  rope  may  be  found. 
First,  him  you  call  Comanche  will  have  ears  on  his 
head  longer  than  a  Jack-rabbit  and  will  hear  us 
likely.     If  so,  he'll  shoot.     How  about  their  lives?" 

Sandy  Rathlee's  face  changed  again.  It  now  wore 
the  look  of  the  leopard  anticipating  dinner. 

"  Kill  the  men,  boy,  and  take  the  women  away. 
Dick  can  keep  the  mails,  and  drive  on  lickity-dash, 
and  when  he  gets  near  Las  Animas  swear  he'd 
had  to  drive  through  fire  to  save  them.  That'll 
give  him  credit.  He  ain't  responsible  for  his  pas- 
sengers. We  are."  The  man  laughed  softly,  his 
laugh   being   re-echoed   by   the   rest. 


"  ROAD    AGENTS."  65 

Who  shall  describe  poor  Seb  Bean's  condition  of 
mind    now  ? 

At  the  first  words  all  the  whiskey  he  had  taken 
mounted  to  liis  head  until  his  brain  seemed  on 
fire,  and  he  was  Avithin  an  ace  of  leaping  upon 
Sandy  Rathlee.  But  luckily  he  had  not  taken 
enough  for  this  madness,  and  so  he  sat  quiet, 
grasping  the  table  and  trembling  all  over.  Then 
came  a  reaction  and  his  one  thought  was  to  con- 
ceal himself  so  that  he  miglit  hear  all  the  men's 
plans.  A  panic  seized  him  lest  he  might  suddenly 
be  recognised  as  Nat's  herder.  The  danger  to 
himself  did  not  trouble  him.  l)ut  if  he  were  shot 
the  conspiracy  would  never  be  found  out.  The 
only  course  he  could  take  was  to  sit  perfectly 
still    and   listen    and   wait. 

Inaction  when  one  is  in  a  state  of  suppressed 
excitement  is  trying  at  the  best  of  times.  To  Seb, 
fearful  as  he  was  of  being  recognised,  it  was  unbear- 
able, and  to  brace  his  nerves  he  mechanically  filled 
his  tumbler  from  the  bottle  beside  him  and  sipped 
at  the  liquor  feverishly. 

The  men  talked  till  midnight,  and  still  Seb  sat 
there  with  averted  face,  listening.  At  length  they 
trooped    out,    casting    suspicious    glances    at    the    old 


66  A    SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

mail,  who  now  seemed  to  be  asleep,  his  head  pil- 
lowed oil  his  arms,  the  bottle  at  his  side  half  empty. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  them  Seb  rose  and  felt 
in  his  pocket  for  money.  His  brain  w^as  reeling  and 
the  room  swayed  and  Avhirled  about  him,  but  he  did 
not  believe  he  was  drunk,  for  he  remembered  every 
word  spoken  by  the  gang.  He  walked  Avith  a  fairly 
steady  step  to  the  bar  and  paid  his  bill.  Then  he 
Avent  out  into  the  night.  A  cool  Avind  met  him  and 
fanned  his  burning  temples.  He  placed  his  hand 
there  and  tried  to  think.  What  had  he  to  do? 
It  Avas  to  tell  Nat  —  Avas  it  Nat?  Yes,  tell  Nat 
—  Avliat  ?  He  had  forgotten.  Never  mind,  it  Avould 
come  back  to  him  in  the  morning,  things  ahvays 
did.  He  Avould  go  to  bed,  Avake  early,  and  all 
would  be  right.  With  some  difficulty  he  staggered 
back  to  the  corral,  and  creeping  betAveen  his  blankets 
dropped  into  a  deep  lethargic  sleep. 

The  night  passed,  and  the  day  broke  bright  and 
unclouded.  Seb  slept  on.  The  coach  rattled  round 
to  the  hotel  door  and  the  passengers  took  their 
places.  The  clock  struck  six.  Driver  Dick,  Avho 
had  been  chatting  with  the  keeper  of  the  hotel  and 
draAving  on  his  gloves,  swung  himself  into  his  seat. 
Nat   and   the   other    "outsiders"    scrambled   to   their 


"  r.OAD    AGENTS."  6T 

places.  "All  aboard"  was  shouted  with  a  will,  and 
with  a  crack  of  tlie  long-lashed  whip  they  were  off 
at  a  hand  gallop,  while  Seb,  snoring  peacefully,  slept 
on  still.  But  a  minute  later  there  came  a  sound 
within  a  fcAv  feet  of  him  whicli  might  have  awakened 
the  dead.  The  howl  and  yell  of  a  dog  frantically 
struggling  to  be  free.  At  a  turn  of  the  road  the 
coach  passed  the  corral  and  Shep  saw  his  master's 
face,  and  knew  that  all  he  loved  in  the  world  had 
gone  from  him.  It  was  well  that  his  collar  was 
tight,  and  his  strap  plaited  raw-hide.  He  strug- 
gled and  tore  at  it  like  a  mad  creature,  while  his 
piercing,  heart-rendmg  cries  roused  half  tlie  town. 
Seb  woke  at  last.  He  sat  up  slowly,  groaning 
at  a  racking  pain  that  smote  liim  in  the  forehead 
as  he  moved,  and  made  it  throb  again.  Shep's 
cries  continued.  For  a  minute  Bean  stared  stupidly 
at  the  animal,  Imt  the  next  he  was  on  his  feet, 
more  frantic  than  the  dog,  and  was  rushing  bare- 
headed, with  shirt  unbuttoned,  his  uncombed  hair 
and  fiery  eyes  telling  sad  tales  of  his  debauch  — 
wildly  into  the  tOAvn. 

Seckersburg  was  just  beginning  to  bestir  itself 
and  lounge  on  the  side-walk  in  its  shirt  sleeves. 
The  spectacle  of  an  old  man  of  disreputable  appear- 


68  A    SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

ance  panting  and  gasping  and  asking  where  he  conld 
find  the  sheriff  was  interesting,  and  not  only  did 
Seb  receive  ready  assistance  in  his  search,  but  by  the 
time  he  reached  the  sheriff's  abode  he  had  a  score 
of  followers,  who,  to  heighten  the  dramatic  effect  of 
the  situation,  hammered  and  kicked  at  the  sheriff's 
door  with  a  vigour  that  caused  that  Avorthy  to  open 
it,  cocked  pistol  in  hand. 

By  this  time,  Seb  had  worked  himself  up  to  such 
a  pitch  that  instead  of  asking  for  a  private  interview 
and  telling  his  story  within  closed  doors,  he  blurted 
it  out  then  and  there.  Nothing  could  have  been 
more  fatal.  The  sheriff  of  Seckersburg  Avas  at  the 
best  of  times  not  quite  the  man  of  action  persons  in 
his  position  ought  to  be.  Nor  had  lie  the  quickest 
of  perceptions.  And  this  morning,  as  a  crowning 
misfortune,  he  had  risen  with  toothache  and  was  in 
a  very  bad  temper.  He  listened  perforce  to  Seb's 
somewhat  incoherent  account  of  all  he  had  over- 
heard, but  the  moment  the  old  man  stopped,  said 
contemptuously : 

"What  was  he  doing  in  Killman's  saloon?  Would 
he  depose  on  oath  that  he  was  sober,  and  had 
been  sober  since?  Any  one  could  see  that  he  was 
drunk   now.      As    for    the    men    described,    he    (the 


"KOAD   AGENTS."  69 

sheriff)  knew  nothing  of  them  and  cared  less.  Any- 
way, the  coach  had  started  and  nothing  conkl  stop 
it  now ;  besides,  Driver  Dick  was  a  straight  man, 
a  dead  shot,  and  had  never  been  boarded  by  road 
agents  before,  and  that  was  all  he  had  to  say."  After 
which  speech  bang  went  tlie  door  in  Seb's  face,  and 
he  Avas  left  with  his  crowd  of  supporters,  who  reviled 
him  in  choice  language.  The  old  herder  was  nearly 
mad,  and  foaming  at  the  lips  threw  himself  against 
the  sheriff's  door  with  a  force  that  nearly  sent  it  off 
its  hinges.  The  crowd  cheered  this,  then  decanqoed 
to  a  safe  distance,  for  the  sheriff  was  a  bad  man  to 
rouse,  and  Colt's  revolvers  carry  far. 

At  this  moment  a  man  pushed  his  way  through 
the  people  and  laid  a  firm  hand  on  Seb's  shoulder. 
It  was  Tom  Cobbett,  his  present  master.  Bean 
grasped   his   hand. 

"Now  I'll  get  some  hearing,"  he  panted,  and  at 
once  began,  more  disjointedly  than  before,  to  tell  his 
story.     Cobbett  took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance. 

"  Come  out  of  this,"  he  said  roughly,  taking  hold 
of  the  old  man's  arm.  '•  Both  you  and  your  story 
will  go  to  Kingdom  Come  together  in  another  minute. 
I  didn't  contract  for  you  to  perform  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  Seckersburg.     Come  with  me." 


70  A    SON    OF    THE    PLAINS. 

Resolution,  quiet  but  inflexible,  has  at  all  times 
great  force  with  excitable  people,  and  though  Cobbett 
was  half  the  size  of  Seb,  the  old  man  yielded  at  once, 
and  amid  the  jeering  laughter  of  the  rabble,  meekly 
allowed  himself  to  be  led  away. 

Cobbett  said  nothing  until  he  had  conveyed  his 
herder  to  a  room  behind  the  bar  of  the  hotel.  Arriv- 
ing there  he  ordered  a  bottle  of  soda-water,  and  made 
Seb  drink  it.     Then  he  said  in  a  business-like  tone  : 

"  Now  we  can  get  to  work.  Just  start  that  tale  of 
yours  again.  This  time  from  the  beginning.  I'm 
here  to  listen.  Sheriff  was  not.  That  is  a  difference. 
Fire  away." 

Seb  did  so.  Tom  Cobbett  neither  moved  nor  spoke 
till  he  had  heard  the  last  word.  Then  he  swore,  at 
first  under  his  breath,  then  aloud.  Finally,  he  took 
a  quick  turn  up  and  down  the  room,  pulling  up  in 
front  of  Bean,  who  was  eagerly  watching  him. 

"  What's  your  idea,  Seb  ?  " 

The  old  man  made  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"Would  a  horse  —  " 

"  No,"  snapped  the  little  man,  "  it  wouldn't.  1 
know  the  team  Dick's  got,  and  you  may  bet  he'll 
make  'em  fly  to-day.  There  ain't  nothing  in  town 
that  could  catch  'em  with  the  start  they've  had.     The 


"ROAD    AGENTS."  Tl 

horses  here  are  weedy.  Try  agaui.  —  What's  that 
noise  from  the  corral  ?  " 

It  was  the  long  mournful  howl  of  a  dog-  that  has 
abandoned  itself  to  despair. 

"It's  Jiis  dog,"  said  Seb  huskily.  "He  woke  me 
with  his  yowling.  Guess  he  saw  the  coach,  for  the 
road    ain't   far   from   there.      He's    been    at    it    ever 

since."' 

Cobbett  nodded,  and  then  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  again.  Suddenly  he  stopped,  and  his  brow 
cleared. 

"I've  ofot  it.     Come  out." 

They  left  the  hotel  and  went  to  the  corral. 

"Look!"  cried  Cobbett.  '  "That  dog  is  in  first- 
rate  condition.  Clever  too,  ain't  he?  Well,  then, 
send  liim.'^ 

Seb  stared  at  his  employer  stupidly. 

"But  he  can't  s^Deak." 

tcj^ool  — he'll  carry  a  letter.  The  point  is,  will  he 
catch  the  coach.  Hell  run  like  a  fox,  and  they  do 
chansre  horses  somewhere  before  Clinter's  Ford.  We  11 
try  it,  anyway.  Can  you  write?  Here's  pencil  and 
paper.  Now  that  won't  do.  Let  me  have  it.  So, 
so.  You  sign  it.  Come,  man,  you  must  have  the 
credit,  not  me.     There.     Now  put  it  on  him." 


72  A    SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

A  dozen  words  had  been  written  in  Mr.  Cobbett's 
clear,  round  handwriting,  Seb's  signature  scrawled  at 
the  bottom,  and  the  letter  was  folded  underneath 
Shep's  collar  and  tied  there  securely.  The  dog  was 
quiet  enough,  seeming  to  understand  when  Seb  caressed 
him  and  told  him  he  was  going  to  his  master.  Now 
all  was  done,  and  he  was  led  in  leash  to  the  coach 
road.  Then  Seb  spoke  Nat's  name  distinctly,  pointed 
to  the  road,  and  let  the  dog  go  free. 

A  joyous  bound  in  the  air  as  if  to  make  sure  it 
was  true,  one  loud  ringing  bark  of  gratitude  and 
delight,  and  straight  down  the  road  flew  Shep  at 
a  pace  which  made  Cobbett  draw  a  breath  of  relief. 

He  put  his  hand  within  Seb  Bean's  arm,  and  they 
stood  there  in  silence  watching  the  black  body  grow 
smaller  and  smaller  until  it  disappeared  altogether. 

"  There  are  men,"  said  the  little  stockman  senten- 
tiously,  yet  with  a  ring  of  earnestness  in  his  voice, 
"who  tell  us  that  animals  have  no  souls.  I  have 
always  thought  these  men  were  fools.  Now,  my 
friend,  I  know  it." 


CHAPTER   V. 

JEFFEESOX   COLLIXGWOOD,    COWBOY. 

The  Las  Animas  coach,  as  Mr.  Cobbett  proplie- 
siecl,  wasted  no  time  npon  its  way.  The  driver, 
whatever  his  moral  character  inight  be,  understood 
the  art  of  managing  horses,  and,  Avith  little  expendi- 
ture of  breath  or  use  of  whip,  got  an  amount  of 
speed  out  of  them  which  placed  him  liigh  in  the 
esteem  of  his  passengers.  Even  Xat,  who  was  on 
the  top  of  the  coach  with  Bel  —  Maizie  preferring, 
she  said,  to  ride  inside  —  complimented  Driver  Dick, 
who  seemed  to  appreciate  the  attention. 

The  driver  of  a  Western  stage,  like  the  conductor 
of  a  Western  train,  is  a  man  of  great  authority, — 
often  as  despotic  in  his  Avay  as  the  captain  of  a 
man-of-war.  It  was  therefore  felt  by  the  other 
''  outsides "  a  special  distinction  for  Nat  when  the 
driver  drew  his  attention  to  a  ford  they  were  cross- 
ing and  launched  into  a  recital   of   an    attempt   made 

73 


74  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

to  rob  the  coach  some  years  ago,  which  had  been 
frustrated  through  what  he  modestly  described  as 
''a  little  play  on  my  own  part,  so  they  say."  This 
story  ended  with  the  display  of  a  handsome  gold 
watch.  "  From  the  boss  of  the  line,  sir.  Since 
when,"  concluded  Driver  Dick  complacently,  "  I've 
carried  ten  thousand  in  silver  often.  I  told  the  Gov- 
ernment Agent  I'd  insure  it  myself.  As  far  as 
this  coach  is  concerned  all  such  fooling  stopped 
dead,  five  year  ago  to-day." 

The  morning  passed  quickly.  Bel  was  in  the  high- 
est possible  spirits,  and  divided  her  time  between 
asking  the  driver  questions  about  the  road,  and 
telling  Nat  the  plans  Maizie  and  she  were  making 
for  their  life  in  New  Mexico.  It  does  not  fall  to 
the  lot  of  many  Western  men  to  be  the  sole  con- 
fidant and  friend  of  a  charming  girl,  and  to  Nat 
after  his  life  of  loneliness  and  hardship  it  was  a 
very  precious  privilege  indeed.  Those  who  had 
known  him  before  he  started  for  the  East  would 
have  seen  a  remarkable  change  in  his  face.  Many 
of  the  hard  lines  had  been  sponged  out,  as  it  were, 
his  eyes  had  softened,  his  speech  was  less  abrupt 
and  his  voice  less  harsh.  In  manners,  too,  lie  was 
fast  becoming  a  civilized  being.       This   was   due   to 


JEFFERSON   COLLIXGWOOD,    COWBOY.  lb 

constant  efforts  on  the  x^art  of  the  girls,  who  had 
Laid  deep  plots  when  he  was  ont  of  hearing  to  bring 
him  lip  in  the  Avay  he  should  go,  and  carried  them 
out  with  great  success. 

From  the  day,  however,  that  they  reached  Seekers- 
bur  o%  these  thino's  ceased  to  be.  Hotels  in  Western 
towns  are  hotbeds  of  scandal  and  gossip,  and  the  first 
evenino;  INIaizie  overheard  some  remarks  which  had 
wounded  her  sensitive  soul  very  deeply.  She  would 
not  tell  Bel  what  they  were,  and  even  professed  con- 
temjjt  for  them,  but  Bel  noticed  that  from  that  time 
forth  ]\Iaizie  was  far  more  reserved  in  her  manner 
towards  Nat. 

Such  conduct  was  fatal  to  Nat's  education.  Bel, 
though  quick  to  notice  things,  stood  too  much  in  awe 
of  him  to  speak  about  them.  It  had  always  been 
Maizie  who  had  given  expression  to  any  objections. 
Therefore,  in  Seckersburg,  though  Bel  suffered  much 
she  had  no  remedy.  Xat,  in  the  innocence  of  his 
heart,  bought  and  wore  an  obtrusively  brilliant  red 
necktie ;  he  came  down  to  table  d'hote  breakfast 
without  a  coat,  and  marched  about  town  with  his 
trousers  tucked  into  his  boots,  cowboy  fashion,  but 
Maizie  said  not  a  word,  and  when  Bel  beseeched  her 
to  interfere   the  only  answer  she  received  was : 


76  A    SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

"  It  is  not  our  business  at  all  —  at  least  not  mine. 
You  talk  to  liim  if  jou  like.  I  have  thought  about  it 
and  have  quite  made  up  my  mind,  and  I  —  I  am  rather 
tired  of  the  subject,  dear." 

Now  when  Maizie  said  she  was  tired  of  a  subject 
Bel  knew  by  experience  that  the  wisest  course  was  to 
leave  her  alone.  The  best  of  women  have  a  thorny 
side,  and  Maizie's  showed  itself  if  she  were  questioned 
after  she  had  "  made  up  her  mind." 

The  "  subject "  was  not  mentioned  between  them 
again.  Bel,  after  racking  her  girlish  brain — for  Bel 
was  barely  eighteen  —  to  imagine  what  was  the  matter 
with  Maizie,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Nat's  latest 
atrocities  in  the  way  of  dress  had  proved  too  much  for 
her  sister's  critical  taste.  This  opinion  was  further 
strengthened  by  a  habit  Maizie  began  to  indulge  in  of 
finding  excuses  to  be  away  when  Nat  gave  them  the 
benefit  of  his  exclusive  attention,  and  though  even 
Bel  could  not  discover  whether  Nat  noticed  it,  still 
the  thing  was  done.  Bel  was  indignant  at  the- slight 
to  their  friend,  and  though  it  must  be  confessed  she 
did  not  always  find  Nat  cheerful  company,  she  did  her 
best  to  make  him  think  so.  To-day  she  tried  harder 
than  usual,  causing  Nat  to  become  an  object  of  the 
keenest  envy  to  one  at  least  of  the  two  other  outside 


JEFFERSON   COLLINGAVOOD,    COWBOY.  77 

passengers.  They  were  young  men,  rough  and  sun- 
burnt aloout  the  face  and  hands,  dressed  in  rude 
Western  attire  of  flannel  shirt  and  overalls  ;  and  only 
the  whip  lashes  twisted  round  their  hats,  and  tight, 
dandified  boots,  would  have  betrayed  to  the  inex- 
perienced eye  that  they  were  "cowboys."  They 
were  returning  from  a  visit  to  friends  in  Kansas  City 
to  take  part  in  an  autumn  ''round-up"  of  cattle  in 
Colorado. 

Tam  Sanderson,  the  younger,  a  fair-haired,  blue- 
eyed  lad  of  twenty,  was  going  to  the  ranche  of  a 
brother  in  Las  Animas.  He  had  just  become  engaged 
to  a  girl  in  Kansas,  and  spent  his  time  just  now  in 
dreaming  of  his  marriage  —  an  occupation  very  sooth- 
ins"  for  his  love-sick  soul  but  somewhat  dull  for  his 
companion.  This  man,  Jefferson  CoUingwood,  was  of 
a  very  different  type.  He  was  only  two  years  older 
than  Sanderson,  but  looked  thirty.  Broad-shouldered 
and  deep-chested,  swarthy  of  complexion  and  square 
of  face,  with  eyes  as  black  as  beads,  and  short  bristly 
black  hair  growing  low.  He  was  a  man  with  a 
history,  for  he  had  left  home  at  thirteen  and  had  made 
his  own  way  since  then  without  help  from  a  soul.  But 
there  was  little  resemblance  between  his  life  and  Xat's. 
A  restless,  nervous,  energetic  person  was  Jefferson  Col- 


78  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

lingwoocl.  It  was  said  of  him  that  whatever  he  did  he 
did  well  but  that  he  never  did  it  for  long.  He  had 
travelled  in  search  of  work,  in  deference  to  this  consti- 
tutional restlessness,  over  nearly  the  whole  of  the 
Western  states,  and  was  equally  at  home  in  a  mining 
camp  in  California  or  on  a  stockman's  ranche  in  Col- 
orado. No  man  could  ride  better,  or  use  a  lasso  more 
unerringly  ;  he  could  work  an  engine  or  break  in  a 
broncho  equally  well.  He  was  invaluable  where  railway 
construction  was  going  on  in  dangerous  places,  and 
knew  everything  that  was  worth  knowing  about  all 
kinds  of  animals.  He  was  good-tempered  and  honest 
as  the  day,  yet  he  never  succeeded,  never  saved  money, 
and  at  three  and  twenty,  barring  the  fact  that  he  had 
good  clothes  and  a  few  dollars  to  buy  a  horse  and  saddle 
at  his  journey's  end,  had  not  a  cent  more  behind  him 
than  when  his  father  whipped  him  ten  years  ago  for 
some  trifling  fault,  and  he  left  home  to  seek  his  fortune. 
To-day  he  felt  more  restless  than  he  had  ever  felt 
before.  Tam  Sanderson  had  been  his  dearest  friend 
for  ten  years  and  had  depended  upon  him  like  a 
younger  brother.  Now  Tam  wanted  him  no  longer ; 
and  though  their  affection  for  one  another  would 
last  their  lives,  the  old  tie  was  broken.  Jeff  had  no 
other  friend.     Like  the  Miller  of  Dee  he  "  cared  for 


JEFFERSON    COLLING^VOOD,    COWBOY.  79 

nobody  —  nobody  cared   for    liim,*'  —  with   tlie    differ- 
ence   that    his   loneliness    was    not    taken    cheerfully. 
He   felt,  when  he  mounted  the    coach   that   morning, 
utterly  out    of   tune,    and    only   longed   for   the    hard 
work  of  the    round-up    to   make    him    forget   himself. 
Upon   this    mood,    like    a    shaft    of    sunlight    piercing 
the    window    of    a    prison    cell,   stole    the    music    of   a 
fresh    young    voice    and    the    vision    of    a    beautiful 
woman.     Bel  was  not   really  beautiful   to    persons   of 
experience  and   impartial    judgment,  but    to   Jeff    she 
was    divine.     His    brain    seemed    to    catch    fire.     He 
trembled   all  over,    and  felt  as    Aveak    as   a   baby,  and 
turnino;    his    face    so    that    he    could   see   her  without 
being:  intrusive    sat  as  still  as  a  stone,  with  his  teeth 
clenched,  in  love   to  the  depth  of   his  soul,  in  love  — 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life. 

The  morning  passed.  At  noon  they  paused  to 
take  refreshment.  Only  ten  minutes  were  allowed, 
as  Driver  Dick  said  part  of  the  road  was  bad  driv- 
ing at  night.  But  in  the  course  of  that  ten  min- 
utes Jeff  Collingwood  had  contrived  to  make  Nat's 
acquaintance,  which  was  some  compensation,  though 
not  much,  for  the  discovery  that  Nat's  companion 
was  going  to  continue  the  journey  inside  the  coach 
with  her  sister. 


80  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

The  road  was  still  smooth ;  but  ahead  were  the 
blue  outlines  of  the  first  range  of  hills,  the  outpost 
of  tlie  eastern  slope  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  The 
day  was  hot,  and  the  wind  dropped  to  a  mere  breath. 
The  horses  shoAved  signs  of  flagging.  And  now  the 
driver  appeared  in  a  less  favourable  light  ;  for,  knot- 
ting his  whip,  he  gave  the  poor  beasts  no  respite,  and 
by  the  time  the  sun  set  and  the  station  of  Jacksonville 
was  reached,  the  team  was  in  a  lather  and  well- 
nigh  exhausted.  Here  there  was  to  be  an  interval 
of  half  an  hour  ;  the  horses  were  to  be  changed,  and 
the  passengers  to  have  an  opportunity  of  stretching 
their  cramped  limbs.  The  end  of  their  journey  was 
to  be  reached  about  midnight. 

Jacksonville  was  the  centre  of  a  small  farming  set- 
tlement. Butter,  eggs,  and  milk  were  sold  and 
eagerly  bought  by  the  travellers.  After  supper  a  few 
minutes  still  remained  before  the  time  of  starting,  and 
Nat  proposed  a  stroll.  Jeff  and  his  friend  came  also, 
and  for  a  little  while  Jeff  had  his  heart's  desire  and 
talked  to  Bel.  It  was  a  pleasant  evening  for  walking, 
and  they  went  further  than  they  knew.  They  were 
only  recalled,   indeed,  by  shouts  from  the  hotel. 

Driver  Dick  was  fuming  when  they  came  up. 
Maizie,  who  saw  most  things,  thought  to  herself  that 


JEFFERSON   COLLINGWOOD,    COWBOY.  81 

she  had  never  seen  a  face  she  liked  less.  One  after 
the  other  the  men  scrambled  to  their  places.  Xat 
was  the  last,  and  had  his  foot  on  the  step,  when  some 
one  called  out  :  — 

"  Hello,  what  d'ye  make  that  on  the  road  behind  ?  " 
Nat  turned  his  head,  and  bv  the  waningf  lio-ht  saw 
a  dog  coming  slowly  towards  them  limping  on  three 
legs.  By  this  time  Dick  was  in  his  place,  and  had 
grasped  the  reins  for  a  start.  Deeply  he  swore  under 
his  breath,  when  Nat,  in  a  tone  that  admitted  of  no 
contradiction,  cried  — 

"Hold  a  minute.  I  must  get  down." 
And  down  he  sprang  forthwith,  with  something  in 
his  eyes  that  burnt  and  irritated  them  most  uncomfort- 
ably. In  another  moment  he  was  on  his  knees  in  the 
road,  and  Shep  was  licking  his  face  all  over  with  a 
dry,  parched  tongue,  too  exhausted  even  to  Avhine. 

If  the  girls,  accustomed  to  Nat's  immobility  of  man- 
ner, had  thought  him  incapable  of  expressing  tender- 
ness, they  were  undeceived  now.  Driver  Dick  might 
growl  about  waste  of  time,  and  mutter  at  the  foolisli- 
ness  of  some  persons  about  a  cur  he'd  liefer  shoot  than 
caress,  but  there  was  no  question  of  a  further  parting 
between  Xat  and  the  dog  which  had  followed  him  so 
far.     Five  precious  minutes  were  spent  in  giving  him  a 

G 


82  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

little  water,  examining  his  bleeding  feet,  and  draw- 
ing a  thorn  from  one  of  them,  and  then  Nat  lifted 
him  tenderly  in  his  arms  and  placed  him  under  the 
care  of  Maizie  and  Bel  inside  the  coach. 

No  one  had  seen  the  note.  Shep  had  i)luiiged  into 
a  pool  at  the  roadside,  and  the  paper  had  become 
nearly  black  with  mud.  It  was  not  until  the  mud 
completely  dried  that  the  girls  at  last  discovered  some- 
thing which  they  could  not  understand  tied  round  his 
collar,  cut  it  away,  and  by  the  light  of  the  swinging 
coach  lamp  —  for  it  was  nearly  dark  —  deciphered  its 
contents. 

^^  Warning.     Six  road  agents  will  stop  you  at  Clin- 

ter's  Ford.     Driver  Dick  in  it. 

"Sebastian  Bean." 

Bel  read  it  first  and  gave  a  little  scream,  severely 
startling  the  other  inside  passengers,  —  two  elderly 
gentlemen  of  peaceable  exterior,  who  were  going  to 
visit  friends  in  Colorado.  They  anxiously  inquired 
what  was  the  matter,  and  Bel  was  about  to  enlighten 
them  when  Maizie  pinched  her,  and  she  coughed  vio- 
lently instead. 

"  The  young  lady  is  not  ill,  I  hope,"  one  of  them  said 
politely,  staring  at  the  paper. 


JEFFERSON    COLLIXGWOOD,    COWBOY.  83 

"Thank  you,''  said  Maizie ;  ''she  is  better  now. 
We  have  received  some  bad  news." 

The  girls  retired  to  the  furthest  corner  of  the 
coach,  and  whispered  together,  A^-hile  the  gentlemen 
fell  into  a  gentle  doze,  blissfully  unaware  of  the  pros- 
pect before  them. 

The  question  for  the  girls  was  how  to  get  the  note 
into  Nat's  hands  AAdthout  attracting  attention.  How 
near  Avere  they  to  Clinter's  Ford?  For  a  few  moments 
they  discussed  and  rediscussed  a  variety  of  lAmis,  and 
expedients,  and  Bel  in  desperation  was  about  to  bring 
the  coach  to  a  standstill  under  pretence  of  faintness, 
when  the  strain  of  the  team  began  to  slacken,  and  the 
driver  pulled  up  of  his  own  accord.  Was  this  Clin- 
ter's  Ford  ?  The  girls  rushed  to  the  door.  It  was 
only  the  bottom  of  a  long  hill,  and  the  men  were  get- 
tmg  off  to  ease  the  team.  The  gentlemen  inside,  ob- 
servino'  this,  also  aligrhted. 

''  Xat,"  said  Maizie,  in  a  voice  as  clear  and  cool  as 
spring  water,  'Mvill  you  examine  Shep  a  moment. 
Something  is  the  matter." 

When  Nat  emerged  from  the  coach,  which  was 
steadily  pursuing  its  way  up  hill,  he  was  accosted  by 
Driver  Dick. 

''  Ef  that  doo'  of  yotu's  is    sick,  friend,  I'll   trouble 


84  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

you  to  put  liim  out.  His  fare  will  be  heavy,  else, 
for  you.  The  Company's  very  particler  about  their 
furniture." 

Nat  laughed. 

"The  furniture  has  not  suffered  —  yet." 

The  driver  grunted,  and  muttered  sulkily  to  him- 
self, Avhile  Nat,  humming  a  tune,  crossed  the  road  to 
where  Tarn  and  Jeff  were  walking  together.  He 
slipped  between  them  from  behind,  and  gripped  the 
arm  of  each,  Avhispering  two  words  : 

"  Road  agents." 

He  wondered  how  they  would  take  the  news. 
Neither  of  them  started  at  the  ominous  words. 
Without  speaking  they  turned  to  look  at  him 
questioningly  and  by  the  last  gleam  of  the  fading 
twilight  he  saw  that  their  eyes  were  as  steady  as 
his  own. 

They  slackened  their  pace  and  the  coach  drew  on 
ahead. 

"  How  did  you  hear  ?  " 

"A  note  was  tied  on  my  dog's  neck." 

Nat  then  repeated  the  words   Cobbett  had  written. 

"  It's  genuine,  for  I  knoAv  my  old  herder's  signa- 
ture.    Where's  Clinter's  Ford?" 

"The  bottom  of  this  liill,  two  miles  further,"  said 


JEFFERSON    COLLIXGWOOD,    COWBOY.  85 

Jeff  Collingwoocl,  adding,  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone, 
"First  point  is  Driver  Dick.  Sliall  we  tie  liim  up 
or   shoot  him  ?  " 

Xat  pressed  his  arm. 

"  AVait  a  bit.  This  is  my  funeral,  for  I  have  16000 
on  board.  It  got  round  town,  likely,  that  I  was 
carrying  it  and  this  is  the  consequence.  Now,  it  is 
not  fair  that  my  foolishness  should  hurt  others. 
Can't  we  strike  some  plan  by  which  they'll  have  my 
money  or  me,  and  leave   the   rest   alone  ? " 

Nat  spoke  earnestly,  and  had  a  great  deal  more 
to  say,  but  Jeff  Collingwood  interru^Dted  him  with 
some  heat. 

"  Now,  just  stop  right  there  and  talk  sense.  Next 
thing  will  be  that  you'll  Avant  to  know  how  much 
we  would  fight  for.  You  don't  know  us,  stranger, 
not  a  little  bit.  Your  funeral,  indeed  ?  What  bosh  ! 
Here's  Tam,  who  has  a  girl  back  East ;  isn't  his  life 
Avorth  something  ?  As  for  me  —  you'll  excuse  me  if 
I  am  speaking  of  your  sister  —  but  no  road  agent 
that  was  ever  born  will  so  nuich  as  look  into  that 
girl's  brown  eyes  without  going  through  me  first. 
But  we've  talked  enough.  The  question  is,  who's 
to  run  the  outfit,  you  or  me?  What  experience 
have  you  ?  " 


86  A   SOX   OF   THE    PLAINS. 

''I  was  with  the  Comanche  five  years  as  a  boy." 

"You  'Were!  Then  we  elect  yon  Captain  without 
voting.     Now   for  business,  please." 

While  the  men  talked  they  had  been  following  the 
coach  at  a  safe  distance.  They  paused  here  and 
shook  hands,  each  registering  an  oath  to  himself  that 
he  would  stand  by  the  others  to  the  death. 

"  Well  then,"  Nat  said,  as  if  he  were  continuing  a 
sentence,  "  my  idea  is  to  bind  Dick,  and  push  on. 
Can  3'ou  drive  four  ?  " 

"Drive  twenty  if  the  harness  will  hold  them. 
Where'U   we   put   Dick?" 

"  Inside,  Avith  my  dog  to  watch  him.  You  will 
take  the  lines,  wear  Dick's  hat  and  coat  and  drive 
through.  Your  partner  and  I  will  lie  on  the  top 
and  pick  off  any  who  catch  at  the  leaders.  Their 
plans  will  depend  a  good  deal  upon  Dick  pulling 
in  at  a  nasty  place.  If  we  can  keep  going  they  will 
lose  a  chance.     That's  my   notion." 

Jeff  chuckled. 

"I  am  with  you  entirely.  Tarn,  boy,  you  must 
take  my  new  Winchester.  You  are  very  spry  at 
snap  shots.  As  for  me,  while  I  can  hold  a  line  all 
the  road  agents  on  the  trail  may  try  their  worst. 
Ah,  see,  —  we're   at   the   hilltop   now.       Driver   Dick 


JEFFERSON    COLLING  WOOD,    CO^yBOY.  87 

must  not  have  the  trouble  of  clmibing  again.  Close 
round,  boys." 

The  last  gleam  of  daylight  had  gone  and  the  road 
which  the  coach  had  now  to  traverse  looked  like 
sheer  descent  into  the  pit  of  Tophet  —  and  it  Avould 
be  little  less  to  a  driver  who  did  not  know  the  way. 
The  coach  lamps  only  gave  a  faint  light  for  a  few 
yards,  and  left  the  gloom  behind  blacker  than  before. 
The  leaders  were  in  almost  total  darkness. 

Driver  Dick  was  getting  very  sulky. 

"  Late  by  two  minutes,"  he  said,  in  a  reproachful 
tone.  ''What  kind  of  a  show  do  I  get  to  make  my 
time,   this  way  ?  " 

He  held  the  reins  in  his  hand  and  his  foot  was  on 
the  first  step.  The  light  of  the  coach  lamp  shone 
full  on  his  face.  Something  touched  his  neck  behind, 
a  hard  round  rim  of  steel. 

"  The  game's  up,"  said  a  stern  voice.  It  was  Nat's. 
"Drop  these  lines  and  keep  still." 

The  driver  neither  stirred  nor  spoke.  He  drew  a 
long  breath  between  clenched  teeth  and  shivered,  but 
he  did  not  let  go  the  reins. 

"  If  you  so  much  as  sneeze,"  Xat  continued,  ''  or 
move  a  finger,  I  fire.     I)rop  those  lines.'' 

The  reins  fell  to   the    ground    and    the    team,    four 


88  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

large  mules,  started,  but  Tarn  Sandersou  was  already 
at  the  leaders'  heads  and  quieted  them.  In  obedience 
to  an  order  from  Nat  he  unliooked  one  of  the  coach 
lamps  and  Dick  was  forced  to  walk  some  paces  to 
the  left.  His  pockets  were  then  turned  inside  out 
by  Jeff,  and  two  pistols  and  a  long  knife  abstracted 
therefrom.  All  this,  under  Nat's  revolver,  the  man 
submitted  to  without  a  word  or  a  struggle.  He  made 
no  inquiries  and  attempted  no  defence.  Therein  he 
showed  acute  knowledge  of  men  and  things.  Noth- 
ing is  more  irritating  to  a  Western  man  than  ques- 
tion or  argument  when  he  is  about  such  work 
as  this.  Any  pretence  of  innocence  or  protest  on 
the  part  of  Driver  Dick  would  have  resulted  in 
rough  handling  and  seriously  endangered  his  life. 
So,  hard  as  it  was,  he  ground  his  teeth  and  said 
nothing,  watching  every  movement  of  his  captors,  his 
muscles  braced  to  take  advantage  of  tlie  least  slacken- 
ing of  vigilance  on  their  part.  But  he  Avas  in  the 
hands  of  men  who  were  in  desperate  earnest.  AV^hile 
Jeff  searched  him  and  Nat  covered  a  vital  part  of 
his  body,  finger  on  trigger,  Tam  roused  the  people 
in  the  coach,  and  persuaded  the  Eastern  gentlemen, 
not  witliout  some  difficulty,  to  allow  the  rope  with 
which  one  of  their  trunks  was  bound  to  be  used   for 


JEFFEllSOX    COLLIXG^YOOD,    COWBOY.  89 

tying  up  the  prisoner.  This  was  done  in  a  deft 
and  workmanlike  manner  by  Jeff,  and  with  the 
addition  of  a  stout  gag  the  man  was  taken  by  head 
and  heels  and  deposited  on  the  floor  of  the  coach 
under  guard  of  Shep,  and  the  Eastern  gentlemen  — 
alias  tenderfeet  in  Western  parlance  —  who,  having 
been  made  fully  acquainted  with  the  facts,  breathed 
the  most  terrible  threats  against  the  prisoner.  The 
girls  were  then  placed  in  the  innermost  recess  of  the 
coach,  while,  as  a  further  safeguard  against  any  stray 
shots,  a  barricade  of  cusliions  was  skilfully  made  by 
Tam  against  the    windoAvs. 

While  this  was  being  done  Jeff  donned  Dick's  hat 
and  coat,  loaded  his  shotgun,  and  mounted  to  his 
seat,  reins  in  hand.  Xat  gave  the  word  ''AH 
aboard,"  and  with  a  swing  and  a  jerk  the  coach 
started  downhill,  —  six  desperate  men  awaiting  it  at 
the  Ford  beloAV,  and  Las  ^Vnimas  and  safety  twenty 
miles  beyond. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE   ATTACK   AT   CLINTER'S   FORD. 

Jeff  Colling  wood  had  driven  in  his  time  every 
kind  of  creature  Avith  four  legs,  from  a  donkey  to  a 
thoroughbred,  and  he  knew  every  inch  of  the  Las 
Animas  road.  Yet,  with  four  hard-mouthed  mules  in 
first-rate  condition,  a  winding  "  down  grade  "  to  travel 
over,  and  a  topheavy,  clumsily  built  coach  behind,  the 
best  driver  in  the  universe  might  be  pardoned  for 
nervousness. 

Little  recked  Jeff  of  difficulty  or  risk.  His  face 
was  full  of  resolution,  his  nerves  steady.  Danger 
came  to  him  as  a  friend.  Squarely  he  sat,  one  foot 
on  the  brake,  and  one  on  the  footboard,  to  keep  his 
balance  true.  He  held  the  reins  with  a  firm  yet 
elastic  grasp,  keeping  his  team  well  under  control. 

Fast  they  went,  their  speed  increasing  as  they 
approached  the  Ford  until  the  leaders  were  galloping 
and  the  strain  upon  Jeff's  muscles  to  keep  the  shafters 

90 


THE    ATTACK    AT    CLINTER's    FORD.  91 

in  collar  was  so  great  as  to  burst  the  searas  of  Driver 
Dick's  coat. 

One  more  turn  of  the  road,  and  then  — 

''  Be  read}^,*'  growled  Jeff  to  the  others. 

A  steep  decline,  a  river  ri^^pling  a  few  inches  deep 
over  gravel,  a  bank  on  the  other  side  rising  sandy 
and  steep  to  the  road  beyond  —  this  was  Clinter's 
Ford. 

Down  the  decline  the  coach  tliundered  Avith  the 
impetus  of  an  express  train.  Into  the  water,  splash, 
throwing  spray  high  in  the  air  to  right  and  left. 
The  leaders  reached  the  bank,  and  sank  to  their 
knees  in  the  yielding  sand,  but  with  the  shafters 
close  behind  recovered  themselves  in  a  moment  and 
sprang  forward. 

Crack!  The  report  of  two  rifles,  fired  over  the 
coach,  rang  out  on  either  side,  and  a  voice  clear  and 
biting  cried  loudly  : 

"Hold,  you  driver,  or  we  plug  you  through." 

No  reply  from  the  coach. 

The  mules,  held  well  together,  and  frightened  at 
the  noise,  plunged  forA^ard.  One  more  effort,  and  the 
stage  would  be  on  firm  ground. 

But  now  four  figures  sprang  out  of  the  darkness 
and  seized  the  reins. 


92  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

A  flash  from  the  roof  of  the  coach,  and  a  sharp 
double  report  ;  a  cry,  and  the  leaders  sprang  free. 
At  the  same  moment  the  knife  edge  of  the  driver's 
whip  swept  across  their  backs,  and  the  coach  advanced 
another  yard.  But  the  mules  in  the  shafts  were  held, 
and  the  one  on  the  near  side,  a  mare,  dropped  on  its 
knees. 

"  Pick  'em  off  I "  yelled  Jeff,  standing  erect  and 
whirling  his  Avhip  round  his  head. 

Ping  !  —  a  bullet  from  Nat's  revolver  sped,  and  the 
shafter  on  the  off  side  shook  himself  free  with  a  sav- 
age kick  which  crushed  the  chest  bone  of  the  man 
who  had  stopped  him.  A  scream  came  from  behind. 
The  coach  door  had  been  forced.  Nat  flew  to  the 
rear,  Tam  following.     Jeff  was  deserted. 

All  the  mules  were  free  but  the  mare.  By  the 
dim  lamp-light  Jeff  saw  a  man  holding  her  with 
one  hand,  and  in  the  other  something  which  flashed 
—  a  knife.  With  all  his  force  Jeff  aimed  a  blow  at 
the  rufiian's  face  with  his  whip.  The  lash  struck 
him  fairly  across  the  eyes,  and  raised  a  livid  line 
of  flesh.  He  lost  his  hold  of  the  mare,  and  she 
sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  Get  up  there  !  " 

Jeff's    call   was   like    a    trumpet   note,    and   with   a 


THE   ATTACK    AT    CLINTER's    FORD.  93 

bound  the  faithful  beasts  threw  themselves  into  the 
collar  simultaneously,  and  pulled  as  only  four  strong 
mules  can  pull.  A  wrench,  a  heave,  the  grating  of 
wheels  in  the  sand,  and  the  coach  reached  firm  ground 
at  last. 

Rifle  bullets  whizzed  round  Jeff's  head  like  hail, 
and  Driver  Dick's  hat  Avas  riddled  through  and 
through  ;  but  they  flew  high,  and  the  mules,  break- 
ing into  a  galloj),  soon  carried  the  coach  out  of 
range. 

What  had  happened  inside  ?  A  cold  perspiration 
broke  out  on  Jeff's  forehead  as  he  thought  of  the 
possibility  of  the  girls  having  been  seized.  But  he 
was  reassured  by  hearing  laughter,  and  then  Tarn 
rejoined  him  and  told  him   that  all  A^'as  right. 

Some  time  elapsed  before  Nat  appeared  again.  A 
road  agent  had  succeeded  in  making  good  an  entrance 
into  the  coach  when  his  friends  had  stopped  it,  fright- 
ening the  Eastern  gentlemen  into  fits,  and  making 
Bel  scream.  But  when  Nat  arrived  he  found  the 
man  on  his  back,  struggling  with  Shep,  who  had 
sprung  gallantly  at  his  throat,  and  was  worrying  him. 
So  vigorous  was  the  dog's  attack  that  the  road  agent 
called  loudly  for  quarter,  and  as  he  had  hurt  no  one 
but  himself,  was  allowed  to  escape. 


94  A    SON    OF    THE   PLAINS. 

Nat,  after  quieting  those  inside,  resumed  his  place 
on  the  box  in  cheerful  spirits.  He  found  Jeff  gloomy 
and  anxious. 

''The  brute  who  caught  the  near  shaft  mule,"  he 
said  with  a  groan,  ''  struck  her  somewhere,  and  I 
doubt  her  lasting  out.  Cowardly  skunk !  By  good 
luck  he  had  not  time  for  more  than  one  blow,  for 
I  branded  him  well  across  the  eyes,  and  if  we  meet 
a  century  ahead,  I  shall  know  him  again.  But  she 
is  bleeding  badly.  What  are  we  to  do  if  she  drops? 
Those  road  agents  will  be  on  our  track  b}'  now,  and 
there  will  be  no  time  to  change  harness  and  pull  the 
old  outfit  to  Las  Animas  with  three  beasts.  But  let 
us  keep  hoping.     Tell  me  about  the  fun  inside." 

Nat  told  hini,  and  then  they  fell  silent,  watching 
the  wounded  mule.  Once  Nat  suggested  a  halt  to 
examine  her. 

"No,  sir,"  said  Jeff,  with  emphasis,  "if  you  will 
take  my  word.  Do  you  see  hoAV  she  goes, — her  ears 
like  fans,  her  nostrils  spread  wide,  her  head  held  high, 
and  her  nose  in  the  air  ?  She's  hard  hit,  I  tell  you  ; 
and  if  she  were  to  stop  now,  maybe  she  would  never 
move  again.  Let  her  go  and  she  may  last  miles. 
At  present  she  is  worth  all  the  other  three.  Their 
legs   are   well  enough,  but  they  have  not   her  heart. 


THE    ATTACK    AT    CLI>'TER's    FORD.  95 

Don't  tliink  I  like  such  business.  If  it  was  safe,  I 
would  put  her  out  of  her  pain,  and  we  would  trust 
to  the  rest.  But  it  is  not  safe.  Why  does  she  keep 
up.  vou  say?  Ah,  you  don't  know  the  l)reed  as  I 
do.  There  are  people  who  will  tell  you  that  horses 
are  the  noblest  of  animals.  They  are  to  some  extent. 
Btit  for  courage  and  constancy,  give  me  a  mule  every 
time.  This  beast  is  in  mortal  agony  every  step  she 
takes.  I  know  it  by  her  eyes.  In  her  state  a  horse 
would  curl  up  and  drop,  and  have  done  with  it. 
But  that  mide  will  go  on  as  long  as  her  heart  will 
beat.  God  bless  her  I  Mules  are  vicious  and  mean 
it  is  true.  I  dare  swear  this  one  has  killed  her  man 
before  now.  But  to-night  she  has  taken  the  other 
track,  and  will  save  us  if  she  can.  Hist  I  what's 
'that?  Your  ears  will  be  better  than  mine,  but  if 
I  don't  mistake  it's  the  patter  of  hoofs  behind." 

"I'a'C  heard  it,"  Xat  answered,  ''for  the  last  three 
minutes.  They  are  gaining  steadily.  There  are  six 
horses,  —  which  is  strange,  for  I  could  have  sworn 
two  men  at  least  were  dropped  at  the  Ford.  And 
I  only  saw  six  when  they  began." 

Jeff  looked  at  him  admiringly. 

"  I  wisli  I  had  your  eyes  and  ears.  It  would  be 
nothing   for  them   to   have    picked   up    others.     Koad 


96  A    SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

agents  are  like  crows.  They  seem  to  come  out  of 
the  air  when  anything  is  to  be  had." 

There  Avas  a  pause,  then  Jeff  said  in  a  low 
voice  :  — 

"  The  funeral  must  be  made  extensive  if  they  run 
us  down.  Make  up  your  mind  to  that.  I  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  leader,  and  the  gang  is  Sandy  Rath- 
lee's.  They  will  stick  at  nothing.  Sandy  is  a  devil 
of  devils.  If  we  are  caught  or  killed,  God  help  the 
women  !  " 

There  was  no  more  said  after  this  for  a  long  time. 
Jeff  set  himself  to  the  task  of  husbanding  the  strength 
of  his  team,  while  Nat  and  Tarn  held  a  consultation 
about  the  plans  of  defence  if  the  worst  came  and  the 
coach  broke  down. 

Everything  depended  now  on  the  wounded  mule.' 
The  moon  had  risen,  and  the  men  on  the  coach, 
being  more  or  less  under  cover,  had  not  much  to 
fear  from  the  enemy  as  long  as  they  could  keep 
going.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  they  came  to  a  stand- 
still, the  road  agents  would  fall  upon  them  like  a 
pack  of  wolves.  * 

Mile  after  mile  went  by,  and  there  was  no  change 
visible  in  the  mare.  The  enemy  were  not  far  behind 
now,   but   they   kept  their   distance.     The  experience 


THE    ATTACK    AT    CLINTEIl's    FORD.  97 

they  luid  gained  at  the  Ford  did  not  encourage  unnec- 
essary exposure. 

"  The  brute  who  stabbed  her  is  one  of  them,  you 
may  depend,"  said  Jeff.  '-He  knows  where  he  struck, 
and  they  are  waiting  for  her  to  droj)." 

Half  an  hour  passed.  Ten  miles  had  been  covered, 
but  there  were  ten  more  to  come.  The  road,  which 
had  been  level  so  far,  was  now  beginning  to  rise,  and 
the  work  of  the  mules  Avas  harder.  Jeff  kept  his  eyes 
anxiously  on  the  mare,  but  breathed  freely,  for  she 
went,  if  anything,  more  vigorously  than  before,  and 
seemed  to  make  nothins;-  of  the  hill. 

"  The  worst  bit  is  here,"  he  said  to  Xat.  "  Once  we 
top  this  rise  the  way  is  easy  and  smooth,  and  they  will 
only  have  to  go.  If  she  can  stand  this  pull  —  if  she 
only  can  !  " ' 

Slowly  the  time  passed  on,  but  tlie  mule's  strength 
held.  Jeff's  trouble  was  to  keep  the  rest  of  the  team 
up  to  her  pace.  The  poor  beasts  were  weary  and 
inclined  to  flag,  and  whip  and  hand  and  voice  had  to  be 
used  unsparingly.  It  was  hard  work.  The  perspira- 
tion streamed  down  Jeff's  face  and  he  became  so  hoarse 
that  he  could  hardly  make  himself  heard,  but  his 
energy  triumphed,  and  the  pace  held. 

The  crest  of  the  hill  was  close  at  hand.     It  was  very 

H 


98  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

steep  here  and  the  road  was  full  of  loose  stones. 
Twice  the  leaders  stumbled,  and  the  off-shafter  once, 
but  the  mare  never  winced  or  failed.  At  last  the  top 
was  reached  and  tlie  strain  was  over. 

The  men  felt  no  relief,  however,  for,  behind,  the 
smiting  of  the  hoofs  upon  the  road  grew  louder ;  and 
now,  at  last,  the  mule  was  giving  way.  She  limped 
a  little,  and  at  intervals  sliuddered  so  convulsively 
that  her  harness  shook.  When  this  happened  she 
would  almost  come  to  a  standstill,  but  immediately 
afterwards  gathered  herself  together  with  an  effort 
and  dashed  forward  as  fast  if  not  faster  than  before. 
Her  breath,  now  coming  in  deep  sobs,  told  how  near 
the  end  must  be. 

Another  mile  passed,  and  still  the  road  agents  held 
back,  and  still  the  mule  ran  on.  The  end  was  coming 
fast.  The  sobbing  breaths  were  now  accompanied  by 
an  ominous  rattle  in  the  throat,  and  the  blood  poured 
from  her  nostrils  in  a  stream.  Now  from  behind  there 
came  two  rifle  shots ;  the  men  were  closing  in. 

The  mule  seemed  to  hear  the  sound.  Her  head, 
which  had  been  drooping  lower  and  lower,  was  sud- 
denly raised  with  a  defiant  snort,  her  pace  quickened 
so  that  it  Avas  all  the  rest  of  the  team  could  do  to 
keep  up   with  her.       For   a   minute  even  the   enemy 


THE    ATTACK    AT    CLINTER's    FORD.  99 

were  out-distanced  and  fell  behind.  Then  the  end 
came. 

AVith  a  crv,  human  in  its  ancfuish,  she  staof^ered  and 
nearly  fell.  By  a  great  struggle  she  recovered  herself 
and  sprang  forward  a  few  more  paces,  just  preventing 
an  overturn  of  the  coach,  then  her  hind  quarters  sank 
under  her,  and  she  fell  on  her  side — dead. 

Without  a  word  Jeff  leapt  to  the  ground  and  threw 
his  reins  away — the  mules  being  glad  enough  to  stand 
—  and  drawino'  his  revolver  ran  to  the  coach  door. 
Nat  was  there,  and  they  stood  side  by  side.  Above 
them  lay  Tam,  the  shotgun  in  his  hand  and  a  rifle  by 
his  side.     He  was  to  form  the  reserve. 

The  enemy  charged  up  with  a  yell.  But  before  they 
reached  the  coach,  before  the  defenders  had  fired  a 
shot,  the  trampling  of  many  horses  was  heard  and 
from  tlie  front  came  a  voice  deep  as  a  growl  of 
thunder. 

"  Road  agents,  by  the  Lord  I  Right  and  left,  boys. 
Fire  on  every  one  who  moves.  Quick,  or  they'll  slip 
away.  S'help  us  all,  what  luck;  it's  the  gang  of  Sandy 
Rathlee." 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE   WORDS    OF   A   WISE   MAN. 

The  road  agents  had  fallen  into  the  lion's  jaws. 
The  owner  of  the  stentorian  voice  was  Dave  Cal- 
deron,  the  sheriff  of  Las  Animas  County  ;  and  with 
him  were  a  score  of  sheriff's  officers.  Resistance  was 
out  of  the  question.  Two  escaped  —  Sandy  Rathlee 
and  the  man  who  stabbed  the  mule.  The  rest  sur- 
rendered at  discretion. 

Mr.  Calderon  was  a  man  of  swift  action.  With 
his  own  hands  he  wounded  one  road  agent  and  shot 
the  horse  of  another.  Then  he  sprang  off  his  horse 
and  opened  the  coach  door. 

"  How  are  we  here  ?  Glad  to  see  you  standing 
fire,  boys.  Let  me  pass,  though,  I  guess.  Ah  —  ha? 
Women-folk  —  beg  pardon  —  ladies."  Off  came  his 
hat,  and  he  bowed  like  a  Spanish  grandee.  ''  A 
prisoner,  by  George  !  What  —  Dick  ?  Well,  I'm 
—  beg    pardon    ladies  —  blessed  !      Bad  —  bad  —  bad. 

100 


THE   WOKDS   OF   A   ^ISE  MAN..      '^-,',^01;.  > 

Boys"  —  to  the  men  outside — '4end  a  hand  here. 
Ladies  and  gentlemen,  ste^D  out,  please.  Xo  danger. 
Allow  me,  ma'am.  Xow,  good  dog,  don't  get  hurt 
by  biting  me." 

All  this  in  a  breath,  and  then,  bareheaded,  he 
handed  Maizie  and  Bel  from  the  coach,  beaming  upon 
them  more  like  a  jovial  Santa  Glaus  than  the  grim 
police-officer  he  was.  But  when  he  saw  their  faces 
under  the  coach  lamp  he  started. 

'^What's  this?  Ain't  I  speaking  to  Maizie  and 
Bel  Shelford,  of  Chico  Springs  ?  I  thought  my  eyes 
weren't  going  back  on  me  yet.  You  don't  recollect 
me,  I  see.  How  should  ye  ?  You  was  both  little 
tots  when  I  saw  you  last.  If  the  Avorld  don't  run 
round  fast  —  when  I  see  you  grown-up  women  I  But 
you  are  not  hurt  anyways,  or  robbed? — tell  me  that?" 

He  had  tjiken  Maizie's  hand  in  his  right  and  Bel's 
in  his  left,  and  was  shaking  them  Ijoth  heartily. 

In  reply  to  their  assurances  that  they  were  safe, 
and  in  full  possession  of  all  their  belongings,  he 
shook  hands  again,  and,  in  the  transport  of  his  feel- 
ings, seemed  about  to  kiss  them.  He  refrained,  on 
second  thoughts,  and  laughed  instead.  Then  seeing 
that  others  Avished  to  speak  to  him  he  became  the 
sheriff  ao-ain  at  once. 


10;2  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

"  Are  you  boys  passengers  ?  Had  a  tight  time,  I 
guess.  I'll  Avant  to  hear  all  about  this.  But  we 
must  get  into  town  first.  Who  ran  the  coach  through 
after  Dick  was  tied  up  —  you  ?  " 

He  spoke  to  Nat. 

"No." 

"  Who  then  ?  " 

"The  man  who  is  hitching  up  now." 

The  sheriff  turned  on  his  heel  and  went  to  Jeff, 
who  was  readjusting  harness  as  coolly  as  if  the  coach 
belonged  to  him. 

"  Your  name,  young  man  ?  " 

The  tone  was  sharp  and  official,  and  Jeff  looked 
up  with  a  frown  without  answering.  He  met  a 
bronzed,  eagle  face,  and  answered  almost  in  spite  of 
himself. 

"Jefferson  Collingwood." 

The  sheriff's  eyes  softened. 

"Jefferson  Collingwood  —  you  are  a  brave  man.' 

Jeff  shook  his  head. 

"  You  ran  the  stage  through,  I  hear  — " 

"  Do  you  believe  all  you  hear  ?  " 

"Not  likely." 

"Then  don't  believe  that." 


THE    AVORDS    OF    A    WISE    MAX.  103 

Jeff  miLookt'd  one  of  tlie  coach  lamps  and  liekl  it 
close  to  the  ground. 

^'  It  was  this  mule,  not  me.  She  was  struck  as  you 
see  at  the  Ford.  In  mortal  agony  she  ran  fifteen 
miles  without  whip  or  rein,  until  death  stox:)ped  her 
here.  We  have  all  done  our  best,  hut  that  would 
have  served  us  little.  This  beast  saved  us.  I  tell 
you  if  I  can  ever  hud  the  man  who  drew  her  life 
blood  I  will  kill  him,  though  it  be  ten  years  hence. 
That  I  solemnly  swear." 

While  Jeff  was  speaking,  the  sheriff  looked  at  him 
with  his  head  on  one  side  like  an  inquiring  bird. 
When  he  had  finished,  the  old  man  grunted,  whether 
in  S}Tnpathy  or  contempt  it  would  be  hard  to  say, 
gave  him  a  huge  slap  on  the  back,  and  left  him  as 
abruptly  as  he  came. 

Great  Avas  the  excitement  in  the  town  of  Las 
Animas  when  the  coach,  with  its  escort  of  sheriff's 
officers  and  their  prisoners,  arrived  an  hour  later. 
A  man  had  been  sent  on  by  the  sheriff ;  and  every 
comfort,  and  a  warm  welcome,  awaited  the  belated 
travellers.  The  girls  retired  at  once,  worn  out  wiili 
the  fatigues  of  the  day,  but  Xat  and  Jeff,  from 
whom  the  sheriff  gathered  all  the  details  of  the 
attempted   robbery,  did  not   get    to  bed    until  nearly 


104  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

sunrise  the  next  morning.  As  a  consequence  they 
slept  well  into  the  afternoon  and  found  they  could 
not  go  further  West  until  the  following  day. 

They  sj)ent  the  evening  together,  and  a  very 
memorable  evening  it  was  to  at  least  one  of  the 
party.  Jeff,  to  Avhom,  in  spite  of  his  emphatic  dis- 
claimers, the  rest  considered  they  owed  their  safety, 
was  made  much  of  by  every  one,  and  continued  to 
make  the  most  of  his  opportunities.  Sheriff  Cal- 
deron  was  with  them  part  of  the  time,  and  while  he 
talked  about  old  days  with  Maizie,  and  Nat  listened, 
Jeff  conversed  with  Bel  to  his  heart's  content.  I 
fear  that  we  cannot  honestly  say  that  the  conduct 
of  Bel  this  night  was  quite  what  it  ought  to  have 
been.  She  had  known  Mr.  Collingwood  little  more 
than  tAventy-four  hours.  Yet  she  treated  him  like 
an  old  friend,  and  chattered  away  about  her  life  in 
St.  Louis,  her  friends  and  her  thoughts  in  general ; 
listened  with  bright  sympathy  to  some  of  his  expe- 
riences, and  questioned  him  in  her  sweetest  tones 
about  himself,  until  Jeff's  heart  and  pulse  were 
bounding  with  rapture  and — such  is  the  vanity  of 
first  love  —  even  with  hope.  The  day  before  he  had 
been  in  love  with  a  vision  of  womanhood  which 
seemed  as  far  away  as  the  stars,  to-day  he  loved  one 


THE  WORDS    OF   A   WISE   MAN.  105 

whose  eyes  appeared  to  grow  brighter  when  she 
heard  his  voice  ;  to  whom  he  tokl  reminiscences  no 
living  soul  had  ever  heard  him  speak  about  before, 
and  who,  best  of  all,  told  him  about  herself  as 
freely  as  if  she  felt  he  had  a  right  to  know  what 
her  life  had  been. 

When,  at  last,  the  evening  had  flown,  and  Jeff 
was  left  to  think  alone,  he  found  himself  almost 
giddy  with  happiness.  Sleep  was  out  of  the 
question.  He  walked  outside  the  town  to  the  top 
of  a  bluff  wliich  overlooked  it  to  the  north,  and 
there  he  sat  smoking  for  hours.  At  first  he  lived 
over  again  the  delight  of  their  long  talk  together, 
but  by  and  hje  he  began  to  think  of  the  future, 
and  his  mood  changed.  She  was  going  to-morrow, 
while  he  was  bound  by  contract  to  Tam  Sander- 
son's brother  to  remain  here  for  at  least  two 
months.  What  might  not  happen  in  two  months? 
There  were  hundreds  of  men  in  New  Mexico  who 
would  go  wild,  as  he  had  done,  at  the  sight  of  her 
face.  Could  he  speak  before  they  parted  ?  For  a 
moment,  so  audacious  was  this  man,  and  so  strong 
his  passion,  that  he  hesitated  while  his  eyes  glowed 
and  his  breath  came  thick  and  short  ;  but  common 
sense    came    to  the  rescue  and  he   sneered  bitterly  at 


106  A    SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

the  impulse  and  frightened  it  away.  Then  another 
fear  tortured  him.  Nat  Worslej,  that  quiet,  grim 
little  sheep-man,  Avas  he  not  a  rival,  and  if  so  could 
there  be  a  more  dangerous  one  ?  True,  this  evening 
he  had  not  obtruded  himself  in  the  least,  and  Bel 
had  talked  as  if  he  did  not  exist.  But  he  was  a 
man  of  great  self-control,  and,  besides,  could  afford 
to  bide  his  time.  While  Bel  —  after  all,  might  she 
not  be  amusing   herself    with  Jefferson  CoUingwood  ? 

Such  thoughts  as  these  w^ere  ill  companions  at 
night  for  a  man  with  overwrought  nerves,  and  when 
Jeff  determined  to  torment  himself  no  more,  and 
retired  to  bed,  his  dreams  were  worse  than  his  re- 
flections, and  he  rose  at  dawn  haggard  and  weary. 

The  hotel  was  all  astir,  for  the  coach  started 
early.  Jeff  found  the  girls  in  the  porch  standing 
with  Nat  to  watch  the  sun  rise.  They  greeted  him 
cordially,  but  Jeff  fancied  that  there  was  a  sugges- 
tion of  reserve  in  Bel's  manner,  and  he  noticed  that 
she  addressed  herself  to  Nat  immediately  afterwards 
rather  pointedly,  and  continued  to  talk  to  him  until 
breakfast  was  ready,  never  even  looking  in  Jeff's 
direction. 

Never  had  a  strong  and  hearty  young  man  so 
little    appetite     as    Jeff    that     morning.        The    bread 


THE    WOKDS    OF    A   WISE   MAX.  107 

seemed  to  clioke  him,  the  beefsteak  to  be  made  of 
Avood.  It  woiikl  have  been  altogether  a  very  silent 
meal,  for  a  reflection  of  his  mood  seemed  to  oppress 
the  rest,  had  not  ]Mr.  Calderon  joined  them  and 
enlivened  them  by  giving  harrowing  accounts  of 
the  primitive  arrangements  of  sheep-ranches  in  gen- 
eral and  ]Mr.  Dan  Shelford's  in  particular,  and 
rousing  Beks  indignation  by  prophesying  that  she 
would  not  endure  it  for  a  week. 

Breakfast  over,  the  girls  retired  to  finish  their  pack- 
ing, Avhile  the  young  men.  accompanied  by  the  sheriff, 
strolled  round  to  see  the  horses  of  the  stage  put  in. 
Up  to  the  moment  of  the  girls'  departure  ^Ir.  Calderon 
chatted  and  joked  in  the  most  cheerful  manner.  But 
when  they  left  his  face  became  grave,  and  lie  was  as 
silent  as  Xat  himself. 

The  horses  were  hitched,  the  coach  ready,  and 
John  Forster,  shortest  and  grinnpiest  of  stage-drivers, 
snapped  out  :  ••  Them  as  want  to  go  climb  in  —  I  wait 
for  none." 

This  was  a  gentle  hint  to  the  girls,  who  were  taking 
messages  from  the  sheriff  for  their  father. 

He  shook  hands  with  both  of  them. 

"  Good-bye,  good-bye,  little  gells  —  for  little  you  are 
to  me  —  remember  what    I    sav  now.     Where    vou're 


108  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

going,  folk  is  one  thing  or  the  other.  Either  they 
will  go  through  fire  for  you,  or  they  are  worse  than 
snakes.  The  prairie  is  a  very  nice  place  to  walk  or 
ride  in  if  you  have  a  good  friend  at  j^our  side,  but  it 
has  queer  ways  if  gells  goes  alone.  Don't  forget  that. 
Good-bye  and  bless  ye  both.  You  Nat,  take  care  of 
them.     Adios  —  adios  !  " 

He  shook  hands  again,  having  done  so  a  most  un- 
necessary number  of  times  already.  Forster's  red  face 
was  nearly  purple  with  impatience.  This  made  the 
leave-taking  with  Jeff  very  short.  He  had  several 
things  which  he  intended  to  say,  one  of  which  had 
been  to  announce  his  intention  of  paying  a  visit  to 
Chico  Springs  in  the  winter.  But  \yhen  the  moment 
came  he  was  so  nervous  that  he  could  not  say  anything 
at  all,  and  only  gave  Bel's  hand  a  squeeze  which  made 
it  ache  for  some  hours  afterwards,  and  muttered  a 
gruff  farewell. 

Then  the  coach  started  with  a  jerk  and  rattle  and 
departed  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

A  sense  of  irritation,  a  stupid,  helpless  misery  de- 
scended upon  Jeff  as  the  stage  disappeared.  It  was 
over !  These  people,  known  only  for  two  days,  were 
now  gone  to  a  far-off  country,  never  to  cross  his  path 
again,  though  one  had  become  so  dear  to  him. 


THE    WORDS    OF    A    WISE   MAX.  109 

What  a  fool  lie  had  been  !  She  care  ?  It  was  a 
feverish  dream.  He  felt  glad  that  lie  had  not  offered 
to  go  and  see  them.  Why  should  tliey  care  ever  to 
see  him  again?  He  would  get  to  work  and  drive  the 
whole  thing  out  of  his  mind. 

Jeff  was  a  man  of  action.  He  seldom  thought  about 
anything  more  than  once  before  he  did  it.  In  lialf  an 
hour  after  the  coach  dej)arted  he  was  inspecting  a 
bunch  of  horses  for  sale  ;  and  before  noon  had  made 
his  purchase  and  was  at  the  ranche  of  Tam's  brother, 
ready  to  start  on  the  round-up  at  an  hour's  notice. 
He  found  Tam's  brother  in  trouble.  One  of  his  chil- 
dren had  just  fallen  ill.  The  sickness  did  not  appear 
to  be  very  serious,  but  there  had  been  fever  about  that 
summer  and  as  illness  of  any  kind  is  always  dreaded 
in  proportion  to  the  raritj'  of  its  occurrence,  a  doctor 
was  needed.  Jeff,  whose  condition  of  mind  just  then 
was  one  of  intense  restlessness,  offered  to  drive  back 
to  Las  Animas,  and  as  he  was  the  best  whip  on  the 
ranche,  his  offer  was  eagerly  accepted.  Arriving 
again  at  Las  Animas  he  found  that  the  doctor  was 
out,  but  had  left  word  that  he  would  be  back  in  half 
an  hour.  Jeff'  hitched  his  horse  to  a  post,  and 
waited.  It  was  a  hot  afternoon  and  he  strolled  into 
the  bar  of   the  hotel   for   a    drink.     The    sheriff  was 


110  A   SON   OF   THE  PLAINS. 

there,  and,  rather  to  Jeff's  surprise,  shook  hands  with 
warmth. 

"  I  had  you  in  my  mind,  young  man,  that  precise 
moment.  Strange  jou  should  be  here.  What  will 
you  take?     My  drink." 

Jeff  took  lager  beer,  the  sheriff  something  stronger. 
They  did  not  stay  long.  The  restlessness  Jeff  felt 
so  strongly  seemed  to  torment  the  sheriff  also, 
and  they  walked  up  and  down  before  the  doctor's 
house. 

For  a  time  they  paced  in  silence,  but  at  a  turn  of 
the  sidewalk  their  eyes  met,  and  each  saw  a  look  in 
the  other's  face  which  struck  him  as  peculiar. 

The  sheriff  was  the  first  to  speak.  He  accom- 
panied his  words  by  an  action  very  rare  with  him  — 
laying  his  hand  on  the  young  man's  shoulder  and 
calling  him  by  his  Christian  name. 

"  What's  on  your  mind,  Jefferson  ?  " 

At  any  other  time,  and  from  any  other  man,  Jeff 
would  have  keenly  resented  such  a  question.  But 
there  was  a  gnawing  hunger  for  sympathy  in  his 
heart,  and  in  the  touch  of  the  old  man's  hand,  and 
in  the  tone  of  his  voice  there  was  a  gentleness,  almost 
tenderness,  which  soothed  Jeff's  sore  spirit.  He  hung 
his  head  and  turned  his  face  away. 


THE    ^VOKDS    OF    A    WISE   MAN.  Ill 

''  Xot  mucli  that  is  worth  telling.  I  am  a  fool, 
like  many  more." 

He  stopped  and  cleared  his  throat. 

"And  why?*' 

Jeff  straightened  himself,  and  looked  his  questioner 
in  the  face.  His  mouth  was  hard  and  his  words 
bitter,  but  they  were  belied  by  a  pitiful  sadness  in 
the  eyes. 

''  Some  one  has  gone  South  to-day,  whom  I  shall 
never  see  again,  and  my  heart  has  gone  with  her. 
Xow  you  have  it  all."' 

He  turned  away  when  he  had  finished  speaking, 
and  made  as  though  he  Avere  going  back  to  the  hotel. 
But  the  sheriff's  grasp  on  his  shoulder  tightened,  and 
they  walked  on  in  silence  again  for  a  space.  The  only 
reply  made  by  Calderon  to  Jeff's  confession  was  a 
sigh  of  sympathy,  but  it  was  better  than  many  words. 
At  last   the  old  man  began  in  a  low,  earnest  tone. 

'•  I  guessed  this,  Jefferson.  It  came  to  me  as  early 
as  yesterday  evening.  I  thought  to  myself,  thinks 
I  —  Dave  Calderon,  you  are  a  hard  old  case.  It's  five- 
and-thirty  years  since  your  heart  l)eat  for  a  woman 
—  yet  you  ain't  too  old  nor  too  blind  nor  too  deaf  to 
mistake  the  marks  of  that  feelino\  There's  a  fire  in 
his  eyes  —  I  was  thinking  of   you — there's  a  tone  in 


112  A    SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

his  voice  when  he  speaks  to  that  little  girl,  which 
goes  straight  to  your  heart,  tough  as  you  are,  as  the 
ball  of  a  Colt's  sixshooter.  Those  were  my  ideas, 
Jefferson,  last  night.  And  then  I  watched  you. 
Don't  rar'  and  get  mad  with  the  old  man  for  spyin'. 
I've  that  to  say  before  I'm  through  Avhich  will  explain 
all.  I  say  I  watched  you.  You  didn't  go  to  bed. 
You  prowled  off  to  think,  and  you  didn't  turn  in  till 
past  midnight.  I  timed  it  by  my  watch.  Then,  this 
morning.  She  talked  to  the  sheep-man  and  your 
face  was  like  a  lamp  with  the  light  snuffed  out.  Poor 
hid,  your  road  is  rough.  I  ain't  too  old  to  forget 
that  either,  remember." 

He  paused  and  gave  another  sympathetic  sigh,  and 
they  took  a  turn  of  the  sidewalk  again.  Then  he 
went  on  in  a  different  tone,  watching  Jeff  closely  out 
of  the  corner  of  his  eyes. 

"  But  the  world's  big.  And  she  —  good  as  she  is 
—  ain't  the  first  woman  you've  seen  in  your  life,  and 
may  be  not  the  last.     How's  that  ?  " 

Jeff's  only  reply  to  this  was  to  withdraw  his  shoul- 
der somewhat  sharply  from  the  hand  laid  upon  it. 

"I  can't  speak  from  experience." 

The  sheriff  clapped  his  hand  where  it  had  been, 
more  firmly  than  before. 


.  THE   WORDS   OF   A   WISE   MAN.  113 

"  Don't  fling  away  now.  I  was  bnt  trying  ye.  Not 
bnt  what  I  hope  yon"  11  he  free-hearted  before  long. 
I  know  yon  ain't  now,  and  don't  want  to  l^e.  You 
ain't  that  kind  of  man.  And  now  I'm  coming  to 
business.  For  I  ain't  wasting  your  time  here,  nor 
my  own,  though  it  looks  like  it.  Do  you  know  the 
country  they"  —  with  a  waye  of  his  hand  to  the 
south  —  ••  are  bound  for  ?  Calumet  County,  New 
Mexico  ?  " 

"Not  at  all." 

"  Well  then,  I'll  tell  ye  —  for  I  do  know  it,  being 
sheriff  there  hye  years,  up  to  a  matter  of  three 
months  ago.  Jefferson  Collingwood,  it's  just  — " 
Here  the  good  sheriff  uttered  that  word  of  four  let- 
ters which  men  of  his  class  inyariably  use  when  under 
pressure  of  great  excitement. 

"  If  Dan  Shelf ord  —  I  haye  known  him  twenty 
years  —  were  not  the  cussedest,  ol)stinatest  old  prairie 
badger  as  eyer  grew  sheej3,  he'd  haye  dug  his  own 
graye  and  shot  himself  into  it  before  he  eyer  sent 
for  those  daughters  of  his.  Calumet  County,  NcAy 
Mexico,  once  one  of  the  quietest  settlements  on  the 
eastern  slope  of  the  Rockies,  is  at  this  present 
speaking  the  most  God-forsaken  place  we  haye  in 
the   Union.     Times  will  mend  —  they  ahvays  do  in  a 


114  A    SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

free  country  —  but  they'll  mend  only  in  one  way  — 
by  tlie  ranchemen  rising  and  quietly  cleaning  out  the 
towns,  or  one  or  two  of  them,  and  hanging  a  few 
score  of  the  cursed  dead-beats  and  scum  of  the  world 
they've  allowed  to  collect  there.  You  know  a  bit, 
perhaps,  what  such  places  are.  No  man's  life  is  worth 
a  shake  Avhen  he's  honest,  and  no  woman  is  safe  at 
all  unless  she  can  kill  at  sight  and  likes  doing  it.  Or 
unless" — here  the  sheriff  spoke  slowly  and  with 
emphasis  —  ''she's  well  guarded  by  those  avIio  know 
how  to  fight. 

"Now  all  this  is  bad  enough,  but  there's  more  to 
come.  In  this  county  of  Calumet,  sheep-men  and 
cattle-men  have  pretty  near  come  to  blows.  That  is, 
they  would  have  if  the  sheep-men  were  not  too  weak 
to  do  any  fighting.  As  it  is  they  are  moving  out. 
But  Dan  Shelford  is  not  one  of  these.  I  know  the 
man,  and  I'll  bet  my  best  horse  against  a  yellow  dog 
that  he'll  stick  on  his  ranclie  like  a  balky  mule, 
and  let  them  blow  his  old  shanty  into  the  air  before 
he  will  move  an  inch.  And  the  worst  of  it  all  is 
that  the  cattle-men,  curse  them, —  you're  one,  I  sup- 
pose—  but  I  can't  help  facts  —  the  cattle-men  of 
Calumet  are  so  bitter  that  they  allow  the  low-down 
crowds  from  the  towns  to   make   hay  of   sheep-men. 


THE   WORDS    OF    A    WISE   MAN.  115 

Of  course  this  knocks  away  any  kind  of  show  from 
the  sheep-men  for  standing  straight  at  all,  and  if  it 
weren't  for  Ezekiel  ]Mixer,  storekeeper  of  the  sta- 
tion, Chico  Springs,  old  Dan  would  have  been 
roasted  out  before  now.  When  his  daughters  get 
there,  and  the  rowdies  get  to  hear  of  it,  I  would 
not  guarantee  anything." 

Tiie  sheriff  paused  here,  and  glanced  sharply  at 
his  companion.  Jeff  did  not  speak,  but  his  lips  were 
pressed  tightly  together,  and  his  l^rows  knit,  as  if  he 
were  turning  over  some  difficult  problem  in  his  mind. 
Dave  Calderon  w^as  quite  satisfied  with  the  effect 
his  words  had  produced. 

"That's  the  position,"  he  went  on,  "and  the  worst 
side  of  it.  The  other  side  is^Xat  Worsley,  who  is 
gone  to  Calumet  to  stay,  if  I  know  anything  of  men, 
and  who'll  do  all  that  lies  in  him  to  keep  things  even, 
and  the  man  I  spoke  of,  Zeke  Mixer  —  a  kind  of  card 
the  cattle-men  and  the  bull-whackers  know  mio-htv 
little  about  —  and  that's  all.  Two  men,  and  the  few 
they  can  pick  up,  against  what  you  may  call  an  army, 
and  those  two  little  daisies  to  be  defended  aein  it. 
It's  enough  to  touch  the  heart  of  a  bear,  and  old 
Dan  ought  to  have  ten  years  in  the  Penitentiary  — 
that's  my  opinion." 


116  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

Another  pause,  and  for  some  minutes  no  sound  but 
the  tramp  of  the  two  men  on  the  sidewalk  ;  then  at 
last  Jeff  spoke,   and  the  old  sheriff   held  his  breath. 

"  The  way  you  put  it  —  there  will  be  danger,  dan- 
ger every  day  for  —  for  those  two  girls,  while  they 
are  in  New  Mexico.     Is  that  so  ?  " 

"  You've  struck  it.     That  is  so." 

" And,"  —  speaking  very  slowly  —  ''if  I  gave  up 
my  contract  and  went  down,  do  you  think  things 
would  be   safer  for  them  ? " 

"I  do." 

"But  I  am  not  a  sheep-man." 

"  You  are  square  and  honest,  and  if  you  spoke  truth 
a  while  back,  there  don't  live  a  man  who'll  touch 
those  girls,  while  you  have  a  finger  left  to  press  a 
trigger.  That's  why  I  spoke.  But  don't  mistake  me 
—  this  is  a  free  country,  and  no  man  need  step  into 
fire  for  the  asking.  Take  it  or  leave  it ;  I'd  not 
blame  you  if  you  held  back." 

"I  — take  it,  then." 

Calderon  stopped  short  in  his  tramp  and  looked 
hard  at  Jeff  for  nearly  a  minute  without  speaking. 
Then  he  laid  both  his  hands  upon  his  shoulders. 

"  Lad,  I  must  be  fair,  and  put  all  down.  If  aught 
I've    said   has   made   you   think    '  I'll   go,    for    mebbe 


THE    WORDS    OF   A   TVISE   MAX.  117 

she'll  turn  to  me  after  all,"  —  if  that's  what  moves 
ye,  put  the  v^hole  idea  away.  It  ain't  fair,  neither 
for  you  nor  for  her.  I  ain't  meant  that.  Of  course 
it  isn't  for  any  one  to  speak  of  other  folks' 
business,  and  that  little  Comanche-Nat,  as  they  call 
him.  is  close  as  he  kin  stick.  But,  he  saved  her  from 
the  Arapahoes,  and  for  four  weeks  afterwards  she  has 
had  him  to  talk  to  and  liim  onlv,  all  dav  lono\  Btit 
there's  more  than  that.  It's  hard  to  tell  ye,  and, 
God  forgive  me,  I  didn't  mean  to  tell  ye  because  I 
wanted  yoti  to  go  South  so  bad,  and  feared  it  would 
ptit  you  off.      Biu  I  Avill  tell  you  now. 

'•Between  the  room  I  slept  in  last  night  and  the 
breakfast-room,  there's  but  a  thin  slab  of  Avood.  I 
heard  voices  tliis  morning,  and  thotigh  it's  my  busi- 
ness to  hear  all  I  can  and  say  naught,  I'll  repeat 
to  you  the  words  that  came,  for  it's  life  and  death, 
maybe. 

'*  One  voice  says  ■ —  Maizie's  :  — 

" '  He  thought  a  great  deal  of  it.  Yoti  scarcely 
spoke  to  Xat,  and  ]\Ir.  Collingwood  never  took  his 
eyes  from  your  face  all  the  evening.' 

"  '  Nonsense,'  said  Bel  very  quick.  •  why,  Ave  liaA'e 
only  spoken  to  one  another  about  twice.  I  don't 
knoAv  him  a  bit.     Hoav    could    lie    tliink    I    preferred 


118  A    SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

liis  society  to  Nat's.  Nat  was  talking  to  Mr.  Cal- 
cleron.     I   am  sure  you  are  mistaken.' 

" '  I'm  telling  you  of  what  I  saw,'  rejoins  Maizie  in 
that  firm  little  voice  of  hers.  '  If  you  feel  so  about 
him  you  must  be  different  when  he  comes  in  the 
morning,  or  you  may  do  a  great  wrong.  He's  a 
good  man.' 

"Just  then  the  door  opened  somewhere  and  there 
was  no  more  of  it.     Now  —  I  have  told  you  all." 

Jeff  took  one  of  the   sheriff's  liands  and  pressed  it. 

"Thank  you.  It's  —  it's  all  right.  I  had  an  idea 
when  I  saw  her  this  morning  it  was  all  over  ;  now 
I  know.     I  am  nothing  to  her,  —  nothing  at  all." 

"  And  what  will  you  do  ?  " 

"Go  South —to-morrow." 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

xat's  reward. 

HoAV  far  Bel  was  conscious  of  the  impression  she 
had  made  upon  Jeff  Collingwood  it  is  not  easy  to  say 
—  she  hardly  knew  herself.  But  all  that  day  she  was 
unusually  silent  and  thouo-htful,  and  had  not  recoy- 
ered  her  usual  cheerfid.ness  by  the  time  she  reached 
Chico  Springs  two  Aveeks  later. 

There  was  more  tlian  one  reason  for  this.  From 
the  day  they  crossed  -  the  diyide  "'  and  entered  upon 
the  desolate  scenery  of  Xew  Mexico,  —  with  its  ill- 
shaped,  flat-topped  mountains,  and  monotonous  billoAV- 
like,  rolling  prairie  land,  interspersed  with  grey  tracts 
of  sage  brush  and  patches  of  black  grassless  soil 
seamed  with  white  deposits  of  alkali,  as  dead  and 
bare  as  a  desert  of  Africa.  —  the  Q^irls  noticed  that 
Xat's  manner  and  bearino-  chano-ed,  and  he  became  as 
reseryed  and  tacittirn  as  on  the  lirst  day  of  their 
acquaintance,  two  months  ago. 

119 


120  A    SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

This  change  had  not  come  all  at  once,  and  when 
they  compared  notes  the  night  before  the  last  day  of 
their  journey,  they  found  that  they  entirely  disagreed 
as  to  the  time  when  it  began.  Bel  declared  that  Nat 
had  never  been  the  same  since  Maizie  had  refused  to 
ride  on  the  top  of  the  coach  the  day  the  road  agents 
appeared,  while  Maizie  Avas  positive  that  she  had  not 
noticed  any  depression  in  Nat's  spirits  until  they  left 
Las  Animas.  At  breakfast  on  the  last  morning  they 
tried  hard  to  bring  him  round.  But  in  vain.  He 
answered  their  questions  gently,  and  was  more  than 
usually  attentive  to  their  comfort ;  but  accompanying 
every  word  and  action  Avas  an  indefinable  something 
in  tone  and  bearing  which  conveyed  to  Maizie's  mind, 
at  least,  a  clear  intimation  that  as  soon  as  Chico 
Springs  was  reached,  and  they  were  under  their 
father's  care,  he  would  leave  them.  But  Bel,  when 
Maizie  prophesied  this,  would  not  listen. 

"  Of  course  he  will  come  to  the  ranche,  and  stay 
awhile,"  she  said.  "  Father  w^ill  insist  upon  it.  Per- 
haps he  feels  nervous  at  what  people  may  say,  for  you 
knoAv  how  he  hates  being  thanked  for  anything.  That 
is  it,  depend  upon  it.  We  must  give  father  a  hint, 
somehoAV,  not  to  say  too  much  at  first.  But  how 
awkward  that  this  has  come  now.     Do  you    see  that 


NAT'S   REWARD.  121 

he  lias  put  on  his  horrid  old  clothes  this  morning? 
I  du  want  to  tell  him  that  he  should  dress  nicely 
to-day.  But  I  daren't.  Don't  you  think  you  could, 
Maizie,  dear  ?  " 

But  Maizie  refused,  with  Avhat  Bel  thought  unneces- 
sary emphasis,  and  they  then  mounted  to  their  places 
on  the  coach  and  drove  away. 

Chico  Springs  Station,  a  straggling  group  of  log 
and  adobe  houses,  came  in  sight  at  noon,  and  with 
a  great  clatter  of  wheels  and  cracking  of  whip, 
the  stage  crossed  a  sweep  of  sandy  waste,  rattled 
over  a  wooden  bridge  whicli  spanned  the  Chapparal 
I^iver  —  a  muddy  rivulet  with  high  banks  —  and 
at  a  brisk  canter  dashed  into  the  station,  and 
pulled  tip  before  its  principal  building,  Simpson's 
saloon. 

Simpson's  saloon,  or  '-Simpson's," — as  the  natives 
of  the  soil  called  it.  —  Avas  a  structure  of  three  stories. 
The  lowest  was  dug  out  of  the  ground,  and  used  for 
kitchen  and  larder;  the  next,  of  adobe,  was  painted 
black  with  yellow  stripes ;  the  next,  of  frame,  a  dirty 
white  ;  while,  covering  the  whole,  Avas  a  shingle  roof 
—  a  costly  luxury  in  those  days,  and  whicli  the  proud 
possessor  had  coloured  blue,  painting  his  name  across 
it  in   the    laro-est    of  gold   letters.     As   a  monstrosity 


122  A   SON. OF    THE    PLAINS. 

of  Ugliness  Simpson's  was  worth  going  many  miles  to 
see  ;  but  Cliico  Springs  was  proud  of  it. 

In  common  with  most  houses  of  its  class,  Simpson's 
received  its  visitors  on  the  second  floor  by  a  long 
flight  of  steps,  at  the  top  of  wdiich  a  ''  porch,"  or  cov- 
ered balcony,  was  built,  where  the  greater  part  of 
the  inhabitants  of  the  station  lounged  when  the  day 
was  warm. 

On  this  balcony,  Avhen  the  coach  rattled  up^  stood 
a  man  who  examined  the  vehicle  with  evident  inter- 
est, nodding  his  head  and  grunting  when  he  saw  the 
faces  of  the  passengers.  Tliis  was  "Slv.  Dan  Shelford. 
He  was  a  person  of  small  stature  and  shrunken 
appearance  ;  his  clothes,  of  brown  canvas,  were  new 
and  much  too  big  for  him.  His  hat,  very  broad  in 
the  brim,  was  pulled  over  his  eyes  ;  and  those  on  the 
coach  could  only  see  the  tip  of  a  sharp  nose,  a  long 
chin,  and  thin,  clean-shaven  lips,  which  habitually 
exposed  rather  prominent  front  teeth  with  a  nervous 
contraction  like  a  fixed  smile.  His  face  was  wrinkled 
and  weather-beaten,  and  Nat  thought  as  hard  as  a 
flint.  But  Nat  was  more  severe  than  he  need  have 
been.  The  hardness  vanished  when  Mr.  Shelford 
trotted  down  the  saloon  steps  ;  and  Latham  ^loore, 
the  driver  of  the  mail,  and  a  truthful  man,  was  heard 


nat's  reward.  123 

afterwards  to  declare  that  lie  saw  a  tear  on  the  old 
man's  cheek  when  his  daughters  kissed  him,  and 
not  even  the  withering  scorn  and  incredulity  of  all 
Shelford's  most  intimate  friends  could  drive  this  idea 
out  of  Latham's  head.  Be  this  as  it  may.  it  is  cer- 
tain that  Dan  Shelford  showed  as  much  emotion  as 
he  was  capable  of,  though  we  are  bound  to  admit 
that  it  was  very  soon  over,  and  the  tone  in  which 
he  spoke  immediately  afterwards  Avas  as  harsh  and 
matter  of  fact  as  if  his  children  had  been  away  ten 
days  instead  of  ten  years. 

''So  —  ye're  come.  It  is  good  to  see  you,  but  I'd 
no  notion  it  would  have  cost  so  much.  Who's 
this  ?  " 

He  had  spied  Xat,  who,  ha^dng  alighted  on  the 
other  side  of  the  coach  to  be  out  of  the  way,  now 
appeared  with  the  girls'  trunk  on  his  shoulder. 

''Xat  Worsley,  father,"  said  Maizie,  Avith  a  bright- 
ness in  her  eyes  and  a  colour  in  her  face  that  made 
her  almost  beautiful  for  the  moment,  ''  the  friend 
who  saA'ed  our  lives." 

"I  remember.  Hoav  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Worsley?  Glad 
to  make  your  acquaintance.  You  and  me  Avill  liaA'e 
a  Avord  before  Ave  get  away  from  toAvn.  See,  little 
gells,  guess  you  had  better  trot  OA^er  to  Mixer's  store 


124  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

—  you  remember  Ezekiel  Mixer  who  gave  you  candy 
in  the  okl  times  ?  Well,  he  reckons  he  has  some  now. 
There  he  stands,  waiting.  Go  to  him  while  we  put 
3^our  trunk  in  the  wagon." 

All  this  was  spoken  in  the  tone  of  one  who  always 
had  his  own  way  and  must  have  it  now.  The  girls 
obeyed  instinctively,  and  were  soon  absorbed  in  con- 
templation of  tlie  ]Mixer  family. 

Nat,  with  a  slight  contraction  of  the  lips,  followed 
Dan  Shelford  in  another  direction,  and  presently 
dumped  his  burden  into  a  lumber  wagon  drawn  by 
two  fat  mules. 

"  Wa'al,  I\lr.  Worsley,"  said  the  little  man,  looking 
at  his  companion  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eyes  like 
a  magpie  about  to  peck.  ''  I  guess  now  you'll  not 
mind  a  drink.     Come  to  the  saloon." 

They  went  thither,  Nat,  so  far,  not  having  spoken 
a  word.  His  silence,  however,  did  not  seem  to  em- 
barrass Mr.   Shelford  in  the  least. 

Drinks  were  ordered,  tasted,  and  then  Dan,  eyeing 
Nat  under  his  hat  brim  more  like  a  magpie  than 
ever,  began  to  ask  questions  sharply. 

"  Come  to  Chico  Springs  to  stay,  I  presume, 
have   ye  ?  " 

"No,   sir." 


xat's  eeward.  125 

"  No  ?  where  is  your  location  ?  " 

There  was  somethinof  in  the  wav  this  was  said 
that  made  Xat.  though  not  naturally  a  quick-tem- 
pered man,  tingle  all  over.  His  face  at  once  became 
the  quintessence  of  impenetrability. 

''Where  sheep  pay  best."' 

'•  And  where's  that  ?  " 

''You  might  tell  me.  perhaps." 

Dan  cast  a  sharp  look  at  the  speaker,  and  shook 
his  head.  '•  That's  not  my  business,  young  man.  But 
1  am  concerned  to  know  where  your  ranche  lies  —  if 
you  haye  one  —  so's  I  may  tell  how  far  you  brought 
my  gells.      That's  my  meaning." 

'•I  have  no  ranche  now.'' 

"Sold  out?" 

"Yes." 

Dan  Shelford  looked  suspicious. 

'-What  price?'' 

"More  than  I  expected,  but  not  more  than  I  de- 
served." 

The  old  stockman  looked  at  Xat  sharply  again,  but 
Nat's  face  miglit.  as  far  as  expression  went,  be  com- 
pared to  a  piece  of  Avood.  My.  Shelford  drummed 
his  fino-ers  on  the  counter,  and,  for  the  first  time, 
looked    uncomfortable.      He    sipped    his    liquor   and 


126  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

choked  ;  took  another  sip  to  recover  himself,  cleared 
his  throat  and  delivered  his  soul  in  a  breath. 

"Nat  Worsley,  you  took  my  daughters  out  of 
the  Arapahoe  camp,  boarded  'em  as  well  as  you  could, 
and  brought  them  safe  to  Seckersburg,  and  now  you 
have  seen  them  through  to  me.  This  has  cost  you 
trouble  and  time,  and  for  good  work  a  man  should 
get  fair  pay.  I'm  poor  — leastways,  not  rich.  But 
if  you  will  set  doAvn  your  price  on  paper,  I'll  put  it 
before  my  girl  Maizie,  who  has  a  head  for  figures  and 
knows  the  circumstances.  And  if  what  she  says  is 
reasonable,  I'll  pay  you  before  I  leave  town  to-day.'' 

If  a  thunderbolt  had  fallen  through  the  shingle 
roof  of  Simpson's  and  descended  on  Nat's  head,  it 
could  not  liave  been  a  greater  shock  to  his  system 
than  Mr.  Shelf ord's  proposal.  All  the  experience  of 
men  he  had  gathered  in  his  wandering  life  had  not 
prepared  him  for  this.  It  was  well  that  the  glassware 
of  Simpson's  Avas  strong,  or  the  tumbler  in  Nat's 
hand  would  have  been  crushed  into  small  pieces.  He 
managed  to  set  it  down  somehow,  and  then,  without 
answering,  bundled  himself  into  the  open  air.  Dan 
Shelford  followed  him,  peering  up  at.  his  face,  eager 
and  suspicious. 

Opposite   to   the    saloon,    with   only   a    broad   road 


nat's  RE^yARD.  127 

between,  was  Mixer's  store,  and  Nat,  looking  across, 
saw  ]\Iaizie  in  the  porch,  shading  lier  eyes  with  her 
hand  as  if  Availing  for  some  one.  A  sudden  idea  struck 
Nat,  and  the  face  which  Dan  Shelford  tried  to  read 
became 'harder  than  before. 

''  The  notion  of  payment,  sir,"  Nat  said  slowly,  "  is 
queer.     Is  it  your  own?" 

Dan  winced.  He  was  anxious  to  stand  well  with 
Nat,  to  whom  he  was  genuinely  grateful  ;  and  to  his 
mind  payment  in  money  was  the  only  kind  of  grati- 
tude worthy  of  the  name,  yet  Dan  was  a  strictly 
truthful  man. 

"Well,  it  was  —  and  it  was  not,"  he  stammered. 
"  I  had  it  in  my  mind  from  the  time  that  cowboy 
brought  tlie  first  letters  from  my  gells.  But  it  got 
clenched  in  when  Maizie's  note  came  from  Seckers- 
burg.  So  I  cannot  say  the  idee  were  all  my  own. 
Other  folk  kind  of  saw  it  more  strongly  than  me, 
but  it  was  in  my  head  all  the  time.  Now,  friend,  say 
—  what  price  ?  " 

It  was  a  long  time  before  Nat  answered,  and  then 
his  reply  was  not  at  all  Avhat  Dan  expected.  He  stood 
for  some  minutes  grasping  the  railing  of  the  balcou}' 
with  hands  which  trembled  strangely,  his  face  rigid 
and  colourless  as  if  he  were  in  great  pain. 


128  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

MeaiiAvliile,  within  the  store  Bel  was  recounting 
to  Mr.  Mixer  the  episode  in  the  Arapahoe  camp. 
While  she  talked,  she  caressed  Shep,  who  loved  her, 
next  to  his  master,  more  than  any  person  in  the  world, 
and  had  followed  her  into  the  store.  In  the  middle 
of  the  story,  Avhich  Bel  told  exceedingly  well,  Shep 
became  uneasy.     Bel  laughed. 

''Nat  is  not  far  off.     I  must  hurry." 

But  no  Nat  came.  Suddenly  Shep  barked,  leapt 
free  from  Bel's  caressing  hand,  and  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  on  tiptoe.  Bel  stopped  speak- 
ing, and  every  one  looked  at  the  dog.  Now,  faintly, 
but  heard  by  all,  came  a  long,  peculiar  whistle.  The 
next  moment  the  window  was  darkened,  there  was 
a  fearful  crash,  and  Shep  disappeared,  carrying  the 
whole  of  a  pane  of  plate  glass  with  him. 

With  an  exclamation  of  astonishment  both  Maizie 
and  Bel  made  a  quick  movement  towards  the  door. 
It  was  opened  before  they  reached  it,  and  their  father 
came  in  alone.  He  looked  flushed  and  uncomfortable, 
but  in  his  eyes  there  was  a  sort  of  subdued  twinkle  of 
relief  and  satisfaction. 

"  Where's  Nat  ?  "  Bel  cried,  Maizie  saying  nothing. 

Mr.     Shelford    coughed,    and    tried    to    be    jocose. 
"■  Where    he   feels    like    being,    my    dears,    I    s'pose. 


KAT^S    REWARD.  129 

He's  all  right.  At  present  sj^eakiiig  I  reckon  he's 
a  mile  or  more  on  the  road  to  Santa  Fe.  What's 
the  matter?  It  ain't  my  fault.  You  don't  think  I 
sent  him  aAvav'^  He  just  bolted.  Xo  man  can  say 
why.  I  did  the  best  1  could  do,  —  asked  him  to  name 
his  price  for  all  he  had  done  for  you." 

The  girls  looked  at  him  in  unutterable  dismay. 

"You  offered  him  money,"  said  Maizie  with  whit- 
ening lips.  "  Our  friend  —  our  brother  almost  — 
father  \  " 

Mr.   Shelford  tried  to  look  virtuously  indio^nant. 

"  Wa  —  all  —  it  was  your  own  letters  that  gave  me 
the  idea." 

"You  told  him  that?" 

Maizie  spoke  so  sharply  that  Dan  jumped.  But 
he  tried  to  brave  it  out. 

"I  did  so  —  I  was  bound  to,  for  he  asked  me." 

"What  did  he  say  then?" 

Maizie's  eyes  were  dangerous  now. 

"  I  can't  well  remember.  Xot  much.  Somethincr 
about  having  made  a  mistake,  and  been  on  a  wrong 
track ;  and  then  he  went  off.  He  looked  that  ugly  ! 
I  never  saw  an  uglier  pair  of  eyes.  I  was  glad  when 
he  did  go.  But  there  ain't  anything  to  argue  about. 
He's  gone    and   there's   an   end.     I    came   to   say  it's 


130  A    SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

time  to  go.     You  get  ready,  gells,  wliile  I  hitch  up. 
We  have  a  good  few  miles  to  drive." 

These  last  words  Mr.  Shelford  uttered  very  rapidly 
—  beating  a  retreat  before  reply  was  possible.  He 
was,  in  truth,  glad  to  escape.  Perhaps  it  was  well 
he  was  able  to  do  so. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THTTXDER    IX   THE   AIE. 

The  drive  from  Cliico  Springs  to  Shelford's  ranche, 
a  matter  of  ten  miles,  was  one  of  the  most  uncom- 
fortable hours  Dan  Shelford  ever  spent  in  his  life. 
He  had  been  really  eager  to  see  his  daughters,  and 
had  made  many  sacrifices  for  them ;  while  they,  on 
their  part,  had  written  long  letters  full  of  affec- 
tionate anticipation,  which  had  warmed  and  softened 
the  old  man's  heart  in  a  manner  no  one  but 
the  Ezekiel  ]\Iixer,  before  mentioned,  would  have 
conceived  possible.  And  noAv,  instead  of  the  two 
blithe  girls  Dan  had  dreamt  of,  recognising  the  old 
landmarks  and  asking  questions  about  old  friends,  — 
cheering  the  dull  country-side  with  their  merry  voices 
and  high  spirits,  —  there  were  two  silent  young  women 
who  seated  themselves  in  the  wagon  as  though  it 
were  a  prison-van,  gazed  down  the  road  to  Santa  Fe 
with  their  hearts  in  their  eyes,  and  preserved  towards 

131 


132  A   SON    OF   THE    PLAINS. 

himself,  tlieir  own  father,  a  demeanour  of  grave 
reproach,  if  not  of  open  offence. 

But  when  at  length  the  old  home  came  in  sight,  the 
girls  began  to  take  some  interest  in  their  surround- 
ings. Alas !  all  was  changed.  The  house  which, 
when  they  last  saw  it,  seemed  to  them  a  palace  ht 
for  the  President,  was  now  only  a  small,  mean-looking 
log-hut,  a  spot  of  dark  brown  on  a  great  expanse  of 
prairie  —  bare  as  a  billiard-table  from  the  tread  of 
thousands  of  sheep,  and  unrelieved  by  a  tree  or  bush 
of  any  kind. 

The  greatest  shock  of  all,  however,  came  when  they 
arrived  there.  A  condition  of  things  then  became 
apparent  truly  appalling  to  a  woman's  eye.  Rubbish 
and  litter  of  the  most  unsightly  description  was 
strewn  in  every  direction.  Here  were  some  scores 
of  empty  tomato  tins,  there  an  astonishing  variety 
of  old  kettles  and  two  bottomless  coffee-pots ;  while 
everywhere  were  bones,  principally  of  sheep,  scat- 
tered as  thickly  as  pebbles  on  the  seashore. 

In  ranches  where  several  men  "batch"  togetlier, 
it  is  the  custom  to  throw  into  space  everything  that 
is  not  wanted,  and  convert  the  surrounding  prairie 
into  a  sort  of  universal  dust-bin  —  with  very  unpleas- 
ant  results.     To  the    girls   the  whoL    place    looked 


THUNDER    IX   THE   AIR.  133 

more  fit  for  rats  and  pigs  to  dwell  in  than  human 
beings,  and  Bel,  who  was  in  a  very  irritable  and 
touchy  state  of  mind,  had  it  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue 
to  say  so,  if  given  the  opportunity.  A  glance 
at  the  door  and  porch,  however,  was  more  reassur- 
ing. These  were  swept  and  clean,  and  as  the 
wagon  drew  up,  a  woman  with  a  fresh,  kindly  face 
bustled  out  and  waved  her  apron  with  a  cheery  wel- 
come. 

This  was  Mrs.  Ezekiel  Mixer,  to  whom,  as  the  girls 
soon  discovered,  they  owed  more  than  she  wotild  ever 
allow  them  to  thank  her  for. 

AVe  have  said  that  Dan  Shelf ord  meant  well.  His 
intentions  of  -fixin'  tip"  for  his '•  gells  *'  were  excel- 
lent as  far  as  they  went,  but  then  they  did  not  go  far. 
It  was  lucky  that  he  had  to  come  to  the  Mixers  to 
buy  the  '^  few  duds "  which  in  his  opinion  girls 
would  need.  Still  more  fortunate  was  it  that  when 
he  Avas  ordering  two  quilts,  two  pairs  of  sheets,  two 
straw  mattresses  and  a  few  other  articles,  all  of  the 
cheapest  and  coarsest  kind,  that  Mrs.  Mixer  grasped 
the  situation. 

That  good  woman,  one  of  the  most  courageous  and 
resolute  souls  in  the  United  States,  no  sooner  did 
so     than     she    left     her    work  —  even     allowing    her 


134  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

bread  to  burn  —  to  question  Dan  closely  about 
the  whole  business.  His  replies  mader  her  shud- 
der. 

Now,  it  was  a  serious  thing  for  any  one,  more  es- 
peciall}^  for  any  man,  to  make  jNIrs.  ]Mixer  shudder. 
Sooner  or  later  he  paid  dearly  for  the  achievement. 
In  Dan's  case,  Mrs.  Mixer  announced  in  her  blandest 
tones  that  what  he  said  was  very  interesting,  and  if 
he  had  no  objection  she  Avould  be  pleased  to  visit 
his  ranche  and  gi^e  him  her  opinion.  It  was  now 
Dan's  turn  to  shudder.  But  he  was  helpless.  The 
very  next  day  Mrs.  Mixer  came  for  a  few  hours  and 
looked  round.  The  day  after  she  came  again  with 
a  wagon  full  of  things,  including  a  bed  for  herself, 
and  for  a  week  Dan  did  nothing  but  draw  water, 
cut  firewood,  burn  mouldy  household  effects,  and 
cart  new  furniture  from  Cliico  Springs  under  orders ! 
The  result  was  that  the  internal  arrangements  of  the 
ranche  were  made  fairly  habitable.  The  condition  of 
things  outside  Mrs.  Mixer,  as  a  frontiersw^oman,  con- 
sidered an  unimportant  detail. 

A  comely  woman  she  was.  Five  and  thirty  years 
old,  fresh  coloured  as  a  girl  of  tAventy,  tall  as  a  man, 
with  broad  shoulders  and  a  deep   voice. 

As   the   wagon    stopped   slie   grasped   the    girls   by 


THUNDER    IN    THE   AIE.  135 

the  hands,  and  swung  tliem  to  the  ground  as  if  they 
had  been  babies,  talking  all  the  time. 

'^  Welcome,  welcome  to  you  both.  Which  is  Maizie 
and  which  Bel  ?  Ah,  I  see  without  telling.  Well, 
dears,  I  have  had  time  to  peak  things  a  bit,  and 
make  the  old  shanty  some  better  than  it  was,  bat 
there's  heaps  wants  doing.  Now,  friend  Dan,"  turn- 
ing sharply  round,  and  altering  her  tone,  "  quick  with 
your  team.  Dinner  only  wants  dishing  up.  Don't 
forget  what  I  told  you  about  the  mare's  back.  And 
tell  Jose  if  he  don't  dress  more  respeotable,  now, 
you'll  look  for  a  herder  who  do.  And  —  mind  you 
ask  Miguel  if  he  scarified  that  snake-bitten  ewe 
this  morning,  and  —  but  that  will  do  at  present. 
Hurry  up,  I  say,  and  get  yourself  w^ashed.  These 
travellers  will  be  hungry." 

When  the  girls  had  fairly  turned  their  backs  upon 
the  rubbish  and  looked  round  the  interior  of  Shel- 
ford's  ranche,  they  felt  comforted.  The  furni- 
ture and  fittings  were  of  the  homeliest  description, 
but  cleanliness,  tidiness,  and  housewifely  completeness 
reigned  here. 

Mrs.  Mixer,  meanwhile,  after  showing  the  girls  their 
room,  "  dished  up,"  and  talked  all  the  time  as  fast  as 
her  tongue   could  move. 


136  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

"  You  will  have  times,  girls,  queer  times.  I  clunno 
whether  you  come  with  ideas  of  getting  fun  and 
frolics,"  here  she  looked  at  Bel,  "  and  gaddin'  round 
'scursioning  and  buggy-riding  with  the  boys.  If  so, 
take  my  word,  you'd  better  not  unpack,  but  just 
naterally  go  back  East  by  the  next  stage.  But  if 
you've  come  to  see  that  the  old  man  lives  a  decent 
life  instead  of  pigging  all  his  days  like  a  Mexican, 
and  you  mean  to  ivorh^  then  I  can  talk  to  ye.  What 
do  you  know  already  ?  Cooking  ?  Ah,  ha  !  —  ]Miss 
Bel  tosses  her  head  a  little  bit.  I'd  better  climb 
down  and  take  a  back  seat,  then.  But,  remember, 
we  don't  have  stores  round  the  corner,  nor  neighbours 
next  door,  nor  a  doctor  over  the  way.  Nor  do  we 
get  helps,  who'll  flop  and  scrub  all  they're  worth  while 
we  play  the  pianny  and  crimp  our  hair.  Not  for 
any  price  that  your  dad  is  likely  to  offer  will  you 
get  any  kind  of  help  better  than  a  Mexican  boy 
who  will  steal  more  than  he'll  save.  So,  work 
you  will  have,  young  ladies — hard  work.  But,  mind 
one  thing  —  make  the  men  work  all  you  know  ! 
Whether  he  is  a  visitor  or  a  Mexican,  or  your  father 
himself,  never  let  a  man  on  the  ranche  have  a  chance 
even  to  light  a  pipe  while  a  chore  is  left  undone. 
Out    West   here,  a  great  part   of  a    woman's    comfort 


THUNDER    IN    THE    AIR.  137 

depends  in  the  way  slie  makes  her  men  fly  round. 
There  —  supper's  on  the  table,  and  your  father  only 
just  come  in  to  clean  himself.  If  that  ain't  like  a 
man  !  AVhile  he's  in  the  kitchen,  come  into  the 
sleeping-room  I'ye  fixed  up  for  myself,  and  look  at 
a  present  I  haye  for  you." 

Mrs.  Mixer  no\y  spoke  in  a  lo^yer  tone  and  accom- 
panied her  words  by  seyeral  nods  and  winks.  The 
girls  followed  her,  smiling,  into  a  bare  little  room, 
cpjite  unfurnished  except  for  a  few  articles  of  rough 
furniture  and  a  roll  of  blankets  and  three  sheep- 
skins—  which  ]Mrs.  ^lixer  proudly  exhibited  as  her 
''  beddin  "  ^  —  and  a  wooden  box.  Out  of  this  box 
^Nlrs.  Mixer  took  a  leather  case.  She  was  now  yery 
graye   and  spoke   in   impressiye   tones. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  dears,  by  what  I  bring  out. 
This  air  will  not  ao-ree  with  your  constitutions  if 
things  scare  you  easily.  A  while  ago  you  was 
youno;  ladies  liying  in  the  East.  I  remember  your 
good  aunt,  who  brought  you  up  since  your  mother's 
death.  She  would  haye  eyerything  just  so.  And 
her  husband  had   iiK)ney,  and   your   liyes    haye    been 

1  In  1873  women  of  Mrs.  ^Mixer's  type  liked  to  show  that  they 
coxild  live  in  frontier  simplicity ;  it  was  not  usual,  otherwise,  even 
then,  for  ladies  to  have  such  primitive  sleeping  accommodation. 


138  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

easy  and  tender  and  quiet.  They  Avill  hardly  be  so 
now.  Those  pretty  white  hands  must  grow  hard 
and  strong.  Until  then  —  remember,  never  go  out 
alone  on  horseback  or  a-foot  with  any  living  man, 
unless  my  husband,  who  hioivs,  says  it  is  all  square. 
And  now  see  here  what  I  have  for  ye  —  to  make 
you  strong.  There's  my  present.  They  are  the  best 
Zeke  ever  sells." 

She  opened  the  case  and  handed  each  girl  a  re- 
volver. 

At  this  moment  Dan,  washed  and  in  want  of 
supper,  found  his  way  into  the  room. 

"  Hello  —  shooting-irons  !  Take  care,  Bel,  my 
daughter!  There  —  there — keep  the  muzzle  to  the 
ground.  Is  this  safe,  Mrs.  Mixer,  do  you  think? 
I  never  could  abide  pistols.  Such  onlikely  things, 
too,  for  gells  —  don't  you  think  ?  " 

At  this  hint,  Mrs.  Mixer's  eyes  resumed  an  expres- 
sion which  Dan  did  not  like. 

"There's  truth  in  what  you  say,  Dan  Shelf ord. 
And  where  men  can  protect  the  women  of  their  fam- 
ily, pistols  ain't  for  girls.  But  where  they  cannot, 
it  is  different.  If  one  of  these  girls  was  to  say, 
'  Shall  I  be  safe  living  in  this  lonely  ranche,  my 
father  away  a   great   part   of   his   time,   witlwut   fire- 


THUNDER    IN    THE   AIR.  139 

arms  ? '  I  should  answer,  no,  and  I  should  like  — 
I  would  very  much  like  —  to  hear  any  man  contra- 
dict me,  especially  the  man  who  is  most  responsible." 

But  Dan  had  already  retired  to  the  kitchen.  Mrs. 
]Mixer  turned  to  the  girls. 

"My  dears,  tell  me  what  you  think  yourselves." 

They  were  talking  to  one  another  and  did  not 
hear  her,  and  Mrs.  Mixer's  keen  eyes  saw  a  suspi- 
cion of  tears  in  Maizie's  eyes,  as  Bel  said  :  — 

"  Why,  it  is  exactly  the  same  pattern  and  size  of 
the  one  he  gave  you,  Maizie.  How  curious !  Is 
yours  in  the  trunk  ?  " 

"I  always  carry  it.     He  made  me  promise." 

And  then,  to  ]\Irs.  Mixer's  unbounded  astonish- 
ment, Maizie  produced  from  a  pocket  in  her  dress  a 
revolver  larger  than  the  one  in  her  hand. 

''Can  you  use  that,  my  dear?" 

"A  little." 

"A  little,  indeed,"  struck  in  Bel.  "Mrs.  Mixer, 
she  is  a  splendid  shot.  Nat,  who  can  shoot  better 
than  any  man  I  ever  heard  of,  taught  her  most  care- 
fully. I  always  shut  my  eyes  just  before  it  goes 
off  —  I  cannot  help  it,  and  I  suppose  that  rather 
spoils  my  aim  —  but  Maizie  never  shuts  her  eyes." 

"  Well,   I'm  sure,"  exclaimed  Mrs.   Mixer,  smiling. 


140  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

''  if  I  don't  have  to  climb  clown  now  I  I  forgot 
what  frontierswomen  jou  were  —  trained  by  experi- 
enced hands.  Well,  let's  find  your  father,  and  have 
supper.  I  am  going  to  be  here  a  little  spell  to  see 
you  settled  in.  Maizie  shall  teach  me  to  shoot.  My 
word  !  " 

Mrs.  Mixer  stayed  two  weeks.  Her  husband  came 
down  before  the  end  of  the  first  week,  and  threatened 
to  return  in  twenty-four  hours  with  a  lasso,  and  take 
her  home  by  force  ;  but  she  told  him  she  would  not 
be  cheated  out  of  a  holiday,  after  being  married  to 
him  five  years.  And  then  they  had  a  long  talk 
together,  after  which  he  went  home  without  further 
protest.  That  evening  Mrs.  Mixer  caught  Dan  Shel- 
ford  over  his  pipe  after  supper,  and  had  an  inter- 
view with  closed  doors,  which  the  girls  thought  Avould 
never  end.  The  next  day  she  announced  to  the  girls 
that  it  was  settled  that  the  ranche  was  not  a  safe 
place  for  them  to  live  in,  that  their  father  had  given 
his  consent  to  their  going  to  stay  at  Chico  Springs 
for  the  next  few  months,  until  the  country  Avas  in  a 
better  state  —  and  that  to  Chico  Springs  they  would 
return  with  her  forthwith. 

Mrs.  Mixer  was  a  clever  woman,  with  a  kind  heart 
and  the  best  intentions.     But  for  all  that  she  made 


THU^'DER    IX   THE    AIR.  141 

mistakes  sometimes,  and  it  was  not  long  before  she 
discovered  that  she  had  made  one  noAv.  Bel,  it  was 
true,  said  she  would  go  if  her  father  really  wished 
it,  but  Maizie  met  the  jDi'opoSt'^l  with  a  quiet  but 
determined  negative. 

"I  came  out  to  be  with  father,"  she  said  simply. 
"  I  knew  from  the  first  that  life  would  be  dif- 
ferent from  St.  Louis.  And  I  have  guessed  lately 
that  we  might  be  in  danger.  You  tell  me,  dear  Mrs. 
Mixer,  no  more  than  this.  It  is  verv  kind  of  vou  to 
ask  us  to  come  to  yoti  and  I  am  very  glad  Bel  is 
going,  but  I  shall  not  leave  father.  I  am  quite  pre- 
pared to  take  the  risk  —  I  intend  to  take  it,  thank 
you.     I  am  C|uite  sure  father  wants  me." 

"And  I  will  stay  with  her,"  cried  Bel,  with  height- 
ened colour;  "Maizie  shall  not  be  here  alone  —  that 
I  am  quite  determined  about." 

Mrs.  Mixer,  however,  was  not  to  be  easily  beaten. 
She  went  all  over  the  ground  again,  and  with  Maizie's 
assistance  reduced  Bel  to  submission  ;  but  she  could 
do  no  more,  and  after  talking  until  she  nearly  lost 
her  voice,  and  making  Dan's  life  a  misery  to  him,  she 
departed  with  Bel,  and  left  Maizie  to  follow  her  own 
devices. 

The  first  few  days  after  Mrs.  ^Mixer's  departure  were 


142  A    SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

a  time  of  great  restfulness  to  Maizie,  and  she  slept 
better  than  she  had  done  for  weeks.  Now,  at  last, 
in  the  sunny  September  afternoons  when  her  house- 
hold work  was  done,  she  could  quietly  think  out 
the  hopes  and  disappointments  of  which  her  life 
had  been  rather  full  lately,  examine  them  impar- 
tially, and  understand  their  true  meaning  without 
feeling  that  Mrs.  Mixer's  eyes  were  always  watching 
her,  and  without  being  constantly  interrupted  by 
that  good  woman's  busy  tongue. 

At  times  she  was  restless,  and  caught  herself  won- 
dering whether  Nat  would  not  walk  in  some  day 
with  Shep  at  his  heels,  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
It  was  impossible  to  believe  that  she  Avould  never 
see  him  again.  Now  that  he  was  not  with  her,  all 
that  his  devotion  and  care  really  meant  seemed  to 
become  clear.  He  was  in  love  with  Bel,  —  that 
Maizie  never  doubted  for  an  instant,  —  and  loved  her 
with  a  depth  and  force  to  which  they  had  both  been 
blind  until  it  was  too  late.  How  easy,  now,  to 
understand  that  reticence  and  reserve  of  his  on 
those  last  days.  In  his  humility  and  in  his  pride 
he  was  afraid  lest  he  should  seem  to  make  some 
claim  upon  Bel  by  his  great  services.  Therefore  as 
they  drew  nearer  to  their  friends,  so  he  became  more 


THUNDER    IX    THE    AlE.  143 

nervous  and  diffident,  and  when  as  a  culminating 
point  their  father  so  bitterly  misunderstood  him  by 
offering  money,  he  fled  altogether. 

Poor  Xat.  and  poor  Bel.  But  here  Maizie  stopped, 
and  fell  into  a  different  train  of  thought.  She  loved 
her  sister  dearly.  Yet  somehow,  of  late,  she  had 
become  less  blind  to  certain  faults  or  weaknesses  of 
character,  of  which  before  they  left  St.  Louis  she 
had  not  been  conscious.  Did  Bel  love  Xat  ?  She 
liked  him  ;  she  was.  in  a  way,  fond  of  him  —  but 
love,  such  as  Xat  craved  for,  did  the  child  know 
Avliat  it  meant  ?  This  doubt  saddened  ]Maizie.  Xat 
would  come  back  —  he  could  not  help  it.  Probably 
he  would  come  to  her,  Maizie,  as  a  sister,  and  it 
would  rest  with  her  to  bring  about  a  meeting  with 
Bel  at  the  right  time  and  in  the  right  way.  This 
could  be  done  easily  :    but  if  Bel  did  not  care  — 

Two  weeks  went  by,  uneventful  weeks  for  Maizie. 
Xo  one  came  to  disturb  her,  and  none  of  the  dangers 
at  which  Mrs.  Mixer  had  darkly  hinted  ever  showed 
themselves  at  all.  All  day  long  tlie  girl  Avas  alone 
except  at  meals,  and  when  her  father  was  with  her 
there  was  not  much  said.  Yet  she  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  seeing  tliat  he  looked  better  and  more  cheer- 
ful,   eat    his    food    with    a    better    appetite,    and,    at 


144  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

times,  talked  of  old  days  and  of  his  business,  as 
if  it  Avere  a  relief  to  have  her  sympathy  and  com- 
panionship. 

But  this  quiet  time  was  not  to  last  much  longer. 
One  day,  when  Maizie  was  sweeping  out  the  kitchen 
in  the  middle  of  the  morning,  she  heard  a  soft  foot- 
step, and  Jose,  her  father's  foreman  herder,  enquired 
for  the  Seiior  with  a  certain  abruptness  she  did 
not  quite  like.  He  went  away  immediately  with  the 
politest  of  bows  when  she  told  him  the  time  Dan 
was  to  come  home,  but  all  day  long  she  felt  nervous 
and  uncomfortable,  and  was  more  relieved  than  she 
would  have  avowed  to  any  one  when  the  old  wagon 
rattled  in  at  last.  She  noticed  that  her  father  fumed 
and  muttered  to  himself  when  he  heard  of  Jose's 
visit.  They  had  supper  as  usual,  but  before  the 
things  were  cleared  away  a  sharp  tap  came  at  the 
door,  and  all  the  Mexicans,  Jose  at  their  head, 
trooped  into  the  room  and  stood  twirling  their  hats, 
like  school -boys  who  had  broken  rules.  A  fine  stal- 
wart set  they  were  —  a  family  of  brothers. 

The  man  least  embarrassed  was  Jose  himself.  He 
looked  his  master  straight  in  the  face,  and  spoke  out 
boldly. 

"Senor,   we   bring   bad  news.      We  are  all  here  — 


THUNDER    IN   THE    AIR.  145 

Maximo  from  liis  camp  in  the  Mesa  Grande  —  Juan 
from  Rio  Salvadore,  and  me  and  ]\Iiguel  and  Ilario. 
If  we  had  not  come  we  shouhl  not  be  alive. 
Vacheros  Texano,  many  in  numljcr.  have  spoken  with 
pistols  in  our  faces.  They  said,  •  This  country  is 
for  cattle  and  not  sheep.  Any  man  who  herds 
sheep  on  the  ranges  here  shall  die.'  Then  they  said 
they  spoke  from  their  masters,  and  that  you  knew 
all,  and  that  before  many  days  are  over,  you  will 
be  —  " 

He  pulled  up  abruptly,  glanced  at  Maizie,  and 
ended  his  sentence  by  whispering  something  in  his 
masters  ear. 

Dan  did  not  speak  for  a  moment.  He  glared  at 
the  men  with  so  fierce  an  expression  that  they  kept 
an  apprehensive  eye  upon  the  movements  of  his  right 
hand.     At  last  he  snarled  out :  — 

"  Is  this  all  ?  No  wonder  cowboys  despise  you. 
You  do  not  ask  for  pistols  or  rifles  to  kill  these 
devils.     You  only  run  away." 

The  men  now  began  to  scowl  in  their  turn,  and 
Jose  rejoined  quickly  :  — 

"You  are  a  brave  man,  Seiior.  So  brave  that  you 
have  not  even  a  shot-s^un  in  vour  house.  How  then 
could  we  ask   for   arms  ?     And  if  we  did,  would  you 


146  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

spend  one  dollar  to  save  our  lives?  No  —  you 
would  let  your  poor  herders  die  like  dogs.  Our 
lives  are  not  worth  money  to  you,  so  they  are  of  no 
value.  Why  should  we  fight  for  you?  No.  You 
must  find  other  men.  To-morrow  my  brothers  will 
take  the  sheep  out  for  the  last  time,  while  you  go 
to  Chico  Springs  and  get  the  money  that  is  owing 
for  our  service.  It  is  this  that  I  wish  to  tell  you — 
we  herd  for  you  only  one  more  day." 

He  put  on  his  hat  and  stalked  out,  followed  by  his 
brothers,  who  saluted  Maizie  in  turn  but  took  no 
notice  of  Dan. 

When  the  door  closed  Maizie  looked  anxiously  at 
her  father.  He  was  still  frowning.  Now  he  stamped 
his  foot,  and  made  use  of  expressions  which  nearly 
sent  Maizie  out  of  the  room.  Then  he  began  to 
walk  up  and  down  talking  half  to  himself,  half  to 
her. 

"I  shall  go  to  Zeke  Mixer.  These  boys  shall  be 
arrested  for  breaking  contract,  if  it  costs  me  all.  It 
means  ruin  if  they  leave  me.  Nine  thousand  sheep  — 
I  can't  herd  nine  thousand,  and  the  cowboys  will 
scare  away  every  Mexican  I  can  pick  up,  as  they  have 
done  these." 


THUNDER    IN    THE   AIR.  147 

''  But,  father,  would  tliey  not  threaten  your  life  if 
you  did   go  out?" 

"  Threaten  ?  They  have  been  at  that  game  for 
months.  I  am  not  afraid  of  their  bluster.  A  man 
does  not  live  twenty-five  years  on  the  frontier  to 
tremble  at  these  young  ]3ull-whackers.  iS^ow  you  go 
to  bed,  child.  We'll  fix  things  to-morrow.  Zeke 
Mixer  can  do  it,  some  way,  and  it'll  save  herder's 
wages.  Not  a  cent  will  they  get.  The  worst  is  to 
think  of  those  sheep  eating  up  the  grass  all  around 
this  range,  wdien  they  might  be  in  camp.  Curse 
the  white-livered  greasers." 

He  sank  back  into  his  chair  with  a  groan,  and  when 
^Nlaizie,  after  an  interval,  passed  into  the  kitchen, 
she  saw  him  crouched  before  the  stove  with  hag- 
gard face,  muttering  incoherently  to  himself,  and  she 
went  to  bed  with  a  heavy  heart,  the  word  "  ruin " 
ringing  in  her  brain. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   STORM   BUHSTS. 

Dan  rose  so  early  the  next  morning  that  IMaizie 
was  inclined  to  suspect  that  he  had  never  been  to 
bed  at  all.  But  he  was  in  better  spirits,  and  drove 
away  before  sunrise  in  a  comparatively  cheerful  frame 
of  mind.  He  was  not  so  cheerful  when  he  reached 
Chico  Springs.  A  fear  haunted  him  lest  he  might 
be  so  early  that  business  at  the  store  would  not 
have  begun,  in  which  case  he  would  be  invited  to 
step  into  Mrs.  Mixer's  parlour,  and  he  did  not  feel 
at  all  equal  to  facing  Mrs.   Mixer. 

He  need  not  have  troubled  himself,  however. 
Though  it  was  barely  half-past  six,  the  store  was 
open  and  the  master  in  his  shirt  sleeves  was  putting 
the  finishing  touches  to  his  arrangement  of  goods  for 
the  day. 

No  one  in  Chico  Springs  had  ever  seen  Mr.  jNIixer 
in  a  hurry,  yet  he  had  never  been  late  for  an  appoint- 

148 


THE   STORM   BURSTS.  149 

ment.      No    one   had    ever   heard   him  laugh,  yet  his 
wit    \\'as   proverbial   in   the    county.       Few   liad   ever 
known  him  speak  more  than  a  dozen  words  at  a  time, 
yet  he  was  consulted  Ijy  numbers  of  men  about  their 
private    affairs,    and    gave    more    advice    tlian   many 
lawyers.      He  was  a  man  who  heard  everything  and 
betrayed  nothing  ;    of  keen  business  faculty  ;    a  hard 
worker,   honest  in   all   his   dealings,  and  strict  about 
payment  of  just  debts.      So  much  was  known  about 
him   ]jy   his   neighbours    and    acquaintances.      It  was 
also  said  that  he  was  rich,  far  richer  than  his  simple 
way  of   living  Avould  lead  any  one  to  suspect.     Here 
all   knowledge,   and   even    conjecture,    on  the  part   of 
the  good  folk  of  Chico  Springs  ended.     All  men  liked 
Mixer;    even  the  rowdy  elements   of   which   Calumet 
County  was  now  so  full,  looked  upon  him  as  an  insti- 
tution   as   firmly    established    as     republican    govern- 
ment, and  as  little  concerned  with  their  affairs.     How 
they  would  have  stared  had  they  known  his  previous 
history  ;   and  if  they  had  •suspected  what  lay  beneath 
his    coolness    and    taciturnity,   how    religiously   they 
would   have    avoided  the   old  log   store,   or  conspired 
for  its  destruction. 

Mr.    :\Iixer   was   fifty   years    old.       His   father   had 
been  a  friend  of  John  Brown's  of  Harper's  Ferry,  and 


150  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

from  earliest  childhood  Zeke  was  not  only  a  staunch 
abolitionist  by  belief,  but  had  taken  active  part  in  the 
protection  of  fugitive  slaves  when  such  work  meant 
constant  danger  and  public  shame.  In  this  atmos- 
phere he  was  brought  u])  ;  he  volunteered  in  the 
beginning  of  the  war,  and  fought  through  to  the  end, 
receiving  a  commission  at  last  from  the  hands  of 
General  Grant. 

Since  the  war  ended  Mixer  liad  been  one  of  the 
most  peaceable  of  citizens,  and  so  he  wished  to  re- 
main while  he  lived.  But  beneath  the  quiet  surface 
of  his  orderly  way  of  life,  the  embers  of  the  fire  of 
old  days  still  smouldered,  and  the  stern  spirit  which 
no  danger  could  turn  aside,  and  nothing  but  death 
would  stay,  required  but  a  spark  to  rouse  it  again 
into  action. 

To  this  man,  the  only  human  being  whom 
he  trusted,  Dan  Shelford  told  the  story  of  his 
woes. 

"There  you  have  it,  Zeke — nine  thousand  sheep 
and  not  a  herder  to  be  got  for  fifty  miles  unless  you 
can  find  him.  For  that  I've  come  to  you.  As  for 
the  trash  who  are  deserting  me,  not  a  red  cent  will 
they  get  for  all  their  summer's  work.  That  will  save 
something.     I  told  Jose  this  morning  that  their  con- 


THE    STORM    BURSTS.  151 

tracts  ain't  up  for  nine  months,  and  if  they  choose  to 
break   them  now  their  wage  shall  go  to  better  men." 

To  this.  Mixer,  who  had  seated  himself  on  a  barrel 
of  crackers  and  listened  to  Dan's  news  with  half- 
closed  eves,  re^jlied  with  a  grunt  that  was  not  at  all 
s}Tiipathetic. 

"Where  are  those  better  men?" 

••Ah  —  there  yon  come  in,  old  friend.  I  want  you 
to  tind  them.  You  haye  neyer  failed  me  yet.  Once 
you  ptit  your  linger  down  there's  naught  can  stand 
agin  you."' 

'^  Dry  up.'' 

Dan.  used  to  this  style  of  address,  obeyed. 

"Set  down  on  that  bar'l." 

He  did  so.  and  neryously  rubbed  his  knees. 

^Ir.  IMixer  looked  at  him  for  some  time  without 
speaking. 

^-  Dan  Shelford."  he  said  at  length  in  the  tone  of 
a  judge  pronouncing  sentence  of  death — a  tone  he 
only  used  towards  yery  intimate  friends,  —  ''there  is 
only  one  way  out  for  such  a  man  as  you  —  only 
one." 

"And  that  way,  Zeke?" 

"  Pull  up  stakes  at  oncet,  and  strike  a  new  country. 
East,  west,  or  south.  Kansas,    Californy,   or    Arizona, 


152  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAIHS. 

where  3^011  please.  Only  go  —  that  is  the  begimimg 
and  the  end  of  it." 

Shelford  shook  his  head,  and  an  exj)ression  of 
obstinacy  came  into  his  face  which  caused  Zeke  to 
give  an  internal  chuckle. 

"Is  that  all  you  have  to  say,  Zeke?" 

"  Are  you  going?  " 

''No." 

"  Then  I'll  reason  with  you.  You  are  a  marked 
man.  Cattlemen,  good  and  bad  alike,  hate  you.  If 
your  Mexicans  had  not  been  the  best  croAvd  I  ever 
heard  of,  you  would  have  lost  hundreds  of  sheep 
before  this.  And  now  you've  quarrelled  with  them. 
Get  as  many  JNIexicans  as  you  please  —  your  sheep 
will  fall  one  by  one,  night  after  night.  By  and  b3^e 
3'our  turn  will  come.  It  would  have  come  long 
ago,  but  that  the  rowdies  aren't  quite  boss  of  this 
countr3^,  and  daren't  try  that  just  3^et.  Don't  ask 
me  ivhy  th.Qj  hate  3^ou.  A  dozen  reasons  don't 
soften  one  hard  fact.  Yet  I  will  sa3"  this  —  when 
sheep-men  in  a  dry  year  fence  in  every  water-hole  for 
fifty  mile  and  cattle  are  d3dng  of  thirst,  'tain't  a  good 
time  for  sheep-men  to  tr3^  to  insure  their  lives.  I  know 
the  water  was  on  3^our  ranges,  but  that  did  not  keej) 
the  cattle  alive.     The  cowbo3^s  are  going  to  have  you 


THE   STOKM   BUKSTS.  153^ 

out.  The  autumn  round-ups  are  closed,  and  they 
have  leisure  to  amuse  themselves.  The  threat  to 
your  ^Mexicans  is  the  lirst  volley.  All  this  is  truth, 
Dan  Slielford.  And  there  is  no  way  but  one — you 
\\  ill  liave  to  git." 

The  old  sheep-man  left  his  barrel  and  stood 
squarely  before  his  judge  and  adviser.  He  looked 
smaller  and  meaner  in  stature  than  usual,  for  Mixer 
was  fully  six  feet  high,  yet  at  this  moment  there  was 
a  solemnity  in  his  weak  voice  and  a  dignity  in  his 
dry  manner  that  ]\lixer,  long  as  he  had  known  him, 
had  never  seen  before. 

"Friend  Zeke,  I  ain't  come  here  to  argy,  and  I 
don't  intend  to  try.  But  you  must  understand  me 
before  I  walk  out  of  your  store.  Twenty  years  ago 
I  came  into  Calumet  County.  I  took  up  my  land 
by  right  of  citizenship,  built  my  house,  and  with  what 
was  left  kept  my  family.  This  I  did  without  asking 
aid  from  any  man,  and  without  wronging  any,  or 
pushing  one  from  his  rights.  I  u'orked  day  out,  day 
in  —  summer  and  winter  —  through  bad  times  and 
good.  I  worked  all  I  knew,  and  so  I  made  my  way  to 
what  I  am  now.  The  land  was  surveyed  by  Govern- 
ment ;  and  the  marks  of  the  ranges  laid  down  then 
are   there  still,  and  I  have  never  gone  beyond  them. 


154  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

I  tell  you  now,  —  as  I  told  the  cattlemen's  association 
three  months  back,  —  while  those  marks  stand  good  I 
hold  to  the  land  which  is  my  right,  and  I  will  not 
leave  it  while  I  live,  for  any  man  or  men.  I  am 
getting  old,  and  I  am  no  fighter.  But  no  threats 
shall  drive  me  off ;  and  if  the  shooting  comes,  Avell  — 
I  ain't  lost  my  eyesight  yet,  and  little  as  I  am,  p'raps 
I  can  pull  a  trigger  spry  as  some.  And  I  will  fight^ 
before  I  leave  the  only  bit  of  earth  I  may  call  my 
own. 

"But — there  —  I  take  up  your  time.  I  dunno 
what  to  be  at,  and  it  seems  you  don't.  I'll  go  my 
ways  and  worry  through  alone.  Only  —  when  I  quit 
Calumet  County  'twill  be  for  further  than  Arizona, 
Zeke,  or  Kansas,  or  even  Californy.  It  will  be  to 
prospect  in  another  world.     Adios." 

He  turned  to  go.  Mixer  answered  nothing.  His 
head  was  resting  in  his  hand,  his  eyes  half  closed 
again,  he  seemed  buried  in  thought.  But  when  Dan 
reached  the  door,  Mr.  Mixer  looked  up. 

"Daniel." 

Dan  glanced  at  him  doubtfully. 

"  Set  down  where  you  was  before. " 

The  old  man  came  slowly  back.  Mr.  Mixer's  eyes 
were  open  now. 


THE   STORM   BURSTS.  155 

"Danl,  what  does  tliis  mean?  You  fight  I  You 
risk  body  and  life  and  limb  to  keep  what  yon  call 
yonr  own  ?  Are  yon  in  dead,  downright  earnest  ? 
By  all  that's  sacred  in  tliLs  world,  old  friend,  there's 
more  for  good  or  ill  hanging  to  the  reply  you  make, 
than  any  words  you've  spoken  smce  you  were  a 
baby  on  yonr  mother's  knee.     Tell  me  again.*' 

The  storekeeper  was  on  his  feet  now,  and  the 
men  gripped  one  another's  hands. 

"You  ain't  seen  me  before  with  my  back  agin  the 
wall,  Zeke.  I'm  drove  there  now.  I  say  that  they 
may  kill  me,   but  they  shall  never  set  me  down."' 

Mixer's  face  worked  with  excitement,  and  he  wrung 
the  old  man's  hand  till  liis  muscles  cracked. 

''Then  I'll  stand  by  ye,  Dan'l,  all  I'm  worth. 
And  if  I'm  not  so  vouno-.  I  know  more  than  I  used 
to  do.  Xow,  let  us  count  the  cost.  There  will  be 
money  to  be  lost  and  lives.  We're  but  few.  They're 
manv.  Whenever  the  fighting  comes,  it  will  be  with 
knives,  so  to  speak,  and  at  close  hand-grips,  and  our 
weapons  must  be  sharper  at  the  point,  quicker  handled, 
and  of  better  steel  than  theirs.  Do  you  sabe  ?  Then 
to  business." 

Zeke  was  sitting  at  the  counter  now,  as  composedly 
as  when  Dan  first  told  his  storv.     There  was  a  gleam 


156  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

of  liiimour  in  his  eyes  as  he  watched  Dan's  tightly 
drawn  lips  and  anxious  expression. 

"  Dan'l,  your  boys  must  stay  and  fight.       I'll   sell 

—  no,  I'll  lend  —  you  six  repeating  rifles,  new  pattern, 
centre  fire,  with  same  number  of  Colt's  army  pistols 
and  knives  —  taken  from  a  lot  I  picked  up  the  other 
day  and  laid  by.  The  knives  are  English  steel  and 
worth  their  weight  in  silver.     What's  the  matter  now, 

—  the  expense  ?     Didn't  I  say  they  should  be  a  loan  ?  " 
Dan  winced. 

"  Tain't  that,  good  friend.  I  put  all  that  behind 
me,  I  swear  I  do.  It's  this  —  the  boys  won't  fight. 
They  think  I  can't  shoot  worth  a  cent.  And  come 
to  that,  I  don't  suppose  I  could  do  much  beyond 
twenty  yards  with  a  shot-gun,  let  alone  anything 
else." 

"  Pay  a  man  to  take  hold  of  them  for  ye  —  a  man 
who  can  shoot." 

"  Can  you  find  him  ?  I  don't  know  nary  one  I'd 
trust." 

Zeke  remained  silent  for  a  little  while,  as  if  con- 
sidering the  point. 

"If  I  did  find  one  Avhom  I  thought  fit,  would  you 
take  him  —  and  pay  him  ?  " 

"I  —  I  would,  Zeke.     But  don't  forget  Maizie." 


THE   STOilM   BUESTS.  157 

"Well,  then,  I  do  know  such  a  one.  But  mmd, 
the  work  is  tough,  and  the  risk  immense.  He  must 
name  his  price." 

Dan  visibly  wriggled,  but  conquered  himself. 

"  That's  reasonable  —  providing  he's  the  right  one." 

'^  I  know  he's  that.  Of  course  I  have  not  spoken 
to  him  about  this,  and  he  may  decline,  and  he's  kind 
of  set  up  in  some  ways  and  not  every  man's  money. 
So  let  me  have  it  straight,  will  you  take  him  ?  " 

''I  will." 

'^  At  his  own  figure  ?  " 

Dan  bit  his  lip  till  it  bled. 

'*  If  —  if  he's  your  friend,  yes." 

Mixer  shook  his  head. 

"  He  ain't  exactly  that.  But  he's  my  recommend, 
—  if  he'll  come  into  it.     AYill  that  do?" 

"If  you're  satisfied,  I  suppose  —  I  guess  it  will." 

"  Then  I'll  find  him  out,  and  introduce  him.  Of 
course  your  little  girl  will  come  to  us  at  once  to 
stay.  Take  a  glance  at  the  knives.  I  put  points 
on  every  one  myself.  You  can  nearly  shave  with 
'em.  And  the  rifles  —  see.  all  are  cleaned  and  oiled. 
Look  down  that  bar'l.  Bright  as  a  mirror,  eh  ? 
You  just  remark,  Dan'l  friend,  that  well-cleaned 
arms    is   worth   all   when   the    pinch   comes,   for  then 


158  A   SON    OF    THE   PLAINS. 

every  shot  goes  straight  and  eveiy  knife  drives 
home.  ^ly  old  dad  tauglit  me  that  twent}'  years  ago, 
and  I  ain't  forgotten  it  since." 

Dan  stared  at  his  friend  with  dropping  jaw. 

''Where  in  the  etarnals,  Zeke.  did  you  take  hokl 
of  this  kind  of  learnino-  —  in  the  war?" 

"  War  ?  Ten  years  before  the  war.  But  see, 
we're  wasting  time.  'Tain't  me  that's  interesting, 
it's  the  weapons.  Look  at  them  and  choose  out 
your  number  while  I  have  a  word  with  my  wife. 
We'll  lix  all  up  this  morning." 

He  left  the  store  and  opened  the  door  of  a  large 
room,  half  parlour,  half  kitchen.  There,  near  the 
stove,  was  Mrs.  Mixer,  her  hands  kneading  dough, 
her  eyes  wandering  to  the  other  side  of  the  room, 
where  two  people  were  playing  with  a  curly-headed 
youngster  of  six  years  old.  One  of  these  was  Bel, 
who  was  assisting  in  the  construction  of  a  brick 
tower.  The  other,  a  man  Avith  broad  shoulders  and 
brown  face,  Avas  watching  the  girl  as  she  worked, 
and  handing  her  the  bricks  one  by  one.  So  ab- 
sorbed were  these  people  in  their  occupation  that 
Mr.  Mixer's  entrance  was  unnoticed,  and  ]\Irs. 
Mixer  had  time  to  give  him  to  understand  that  he 
must  not   disturb   them.      Zeke  smiled  back  into  his 


THE    STORM   BUKSTS.  159 

wife's  eyes,  and  stood  waiting  patiently.  At  last 
he  made  his  presence  known  by  a  Ioav  sepulchral 
cough.     Both  looked  up  and  the  man  rose. 

''  Want  me,  storekeeper  ?  " 

u\Ya — al,  that  depends  I  I  don't  wish  to  spile  an 
important  building  contract,  but  I  have  a  few  words 
for  you." 

There  was  a  general  laugh,  and  Bel  found  it 
necessary  to  give  her  handiwork  close  and  particular 
examination. 

"  Oh,  we  have  finished.  There,  Sammy,  darling, 
that  will  do  for  the  roof.  ^Ir.  Collingwood,  you  are 
dismissed,  and  sonny  is  very  much  obliged  to  you." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  laughing  eyes,  and 
Mr.   and  Mrs.   Mixer  glanced  at  one  another. 

The  consultation  between  the  men  was  very  short, 
and  they  went  at  once  into  the  store.  Dan  Avas 
awaiting  them  anxiously,  wondering  what  manner 
of  man  Zeke  had  picked  up.  The  appearance  of 
Jeff  took  liis  breath  aw^ay.  From  Jei^'s  smartly 
embroidered  shirt  to  his  rolling  gait  —  sure  sign  of 
a  riding  man  —  he  was  a  cowboy  par  excellence^  and 
for  twenty  years  cowboys  had  been  the  bane  of 
Dan's  existence.  But  Dan  was  possessed  with  but 
one  idea   just    now,  and   would  not    have  refused  the 


160  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

aid   of   the    Evil  One    himself,  if    Mixer   had    recom- 
mended him. 

Without  hesitation  of  any  kind  he  agreed  to 
engage  Jeff,  Mixer  fixing  the  rate  of  payment. 
Dan's  chief  anxiety  appeared  to  be  that  there  should 
be  no  delay.     All  he  said  was  :  — 

"You  heft  the  chances,  young  man?  Six  Mexi- 
cans to  hold  to  a  contract  they  have  given  up,  and 
all  the  country  agin  us  ? " 

Jeff  smiled  at  the  storekeeper. 

"I  have  reckoned  it,  and  what  strength  I  have  is 
yours.     Mr.  Mixer  knows." 

No  more  words  were  spoken.  Dan  had  set  aside 
the  arms  he  wanted,  and  with  a  parting  grip  of 
Zeke's  hand  hurried  to  his  wagon.  Jeff  followed, 
after  saddling  his  horse  with  a  rapidity  that  won 
Dan's  cordial  approval,  and  off  they  started  at  a 
good  thirteen  miles  an  hour. 

Was  it  presentiment,  or  was  it  the  nervous  irrita- 
tion of  mind  natural  to  a  peaceable  man  committed 
to  a  policy  of  war,  which  made  Dan  drive  that  day 
as  most  assuredly  those  fat  mules  of  his  had  never 
been  driven  before.  In  three-quarters  of  an  hour, 
with  Jeff's  horse  at  the  lope  and  the  mules  trotting 
for  dear   life,  the    ranche    came  in  sight.      Down  the 


THE   STORM   BURSTS.  161 

gentle  slope  of  bare  prairie-land  the  old  wagon 
bumped,  rattled,  and  swung.  The  mules  were  now 
so  near  home  that  they  went  faster  than  ever,  and 
Jeff's  lope  became  a  hand  gallop.  The  house  was 
reached,  and  with  a  noise  that  Avould  have  awakened 
the  Seven  Sleepers,  the  wagon  rattled  round  the 
corner,  and  drew  uj)  at  the  door  where  ]\Irs.  ]\Iixer 
had  greeted  the  girls  three  weeks  ago.  Dan  pulled 
in  with  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and  something 
more  upon  his  lips.  The  kitchen  door  and  the 
parlour  window  were  open,  but  no  Maizie  came  to 
greet  them.  Jeff  saw  the  old  man's  face  turn  as 
white  as  death. 

"  Where  is  my  gell  ?  "  he  gasped.  "  There's  some- 
thing wrong." 

Jeff  waited  to  hear  no  more.  With  what  seemed 
to  Dan  a  single  bound,  he  was  off  his  horse  and  on 
the  kitchen  porch.  The  kitchen  was  in  confusion. 
On  the  table  were  plates,  knives  and  forks  and  tum- 
blers. A  frying-pan  was  on  the  stove  half  full  of 
meat,  burnt  black.  Jeff  cocked  his  revolver,  and 
passed  through  to  the  next  room,  the  parlour.  The 
place  Avas  completely  wrecked;  the  white  drugget 
which  Maizie  had  laid  down  with  her  own  hands 
was    strewn   with   broken    chairs    and    deeply   stained 

M 


162  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

with  blood,  even  the  pictures  had  been  torn  from  the 
walls  and  smashed.  All  this  Jeff  took  in  at  a  glance  ; 
and  then,  hearing  from  the  room  beyond  a  faint 
moaning  sound,  he  strode  through  the  debris  and 
opened  the  door.  This  was  Maizie's  room.  The 
dainty  bed,  with  its  snowy-white  coverlet,  the  natty 
book-shelf  on  the  wall,  a  dressing-table  with  a  mirror 
still  untouched  by  rude  hands,  and  a  rocking-chair, 
proved  this.  But  Jeff  saw  none  of  these  things. 
Stretched  by  the  bed,  gasping  for  breath,  lay  a  dying 
man.  He  was  still  conscious,  for  he  moved  one  hand 
and  tried  to  speak. 

"Jose!"  exclaimed  Dan  hoarsely, — he  had  kept 
close  to  Jeff,  liis  face  rigid  and  white  with  a  horror 
that  could  not  be  put  into  words.  "  My  God !  Ask 
him  what  has  happened." 

''Quiet!''  said  Jeff  sternly,  "or  leave  the  room. 
This  is  life  or  death.  We'll  get  nothing  if  he's 
flurried." 

He  dropped  on  his  knees  by  the  Mexican,  and 
taking  a  flask  from  his  pocket  poured  a  little  brandy 
between  his  lips.  After  this  had  been  repeated  once 
or  twice,  the  man  whispered  something  in  Spanish. 
Jeff  placed  his  ear  close  to  the  feeble  lips  and  lis- 
tened. 


THE    ST0R3[   BURSTS.  163 

"  Desperado  Vacheros  —  la  Senorita  —  I  saw  them  — 
too  late  —  ten  to  one." 

He  gasped  and  choked,  and  they  feared  it  was  his 
last  breath.     But  with  more  hrandv  he  rallied  ao-ain. 

"They  take  her  to  Amenta.      You  go  after,  quick.''' 

Again  he  stopped ;  and  now  from  his  throat  came 
the  rattle  of  approaching  death,  and  his  eyes  closed. 
Jeff  asked  a  question  twice,  and  the  lips  moved 
slowly. 

"  Sandy  Rathlee,"  he  said,  and  died. 

A  despised  half-breed,  poor  Jose.  Liable  to  steal, 
always  willing  to  lie,  and  only  really  happy  at  the 
gaming-table.  Yet  no  hero  ever  died  a  nobler  death. 
Jeff,  who  had  hitherto  held  the  race  in  contempt,  felt 
a  sudden  shame  as  he  looked  at  the  poor  disfigured 
face  and  thought  of  wliat  this  ^Mexican  had  done. 
But  it  was  no  time  for  moralizing. 

He  sprang  up,  and  found  his  arm  grasped  by  Dan, 
whose  face  was  more  s^hastlv  than  the  dead  man's. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  Amenta  ?  A  hole  of  devils  I  Oh 
Lord,  oh  Lord  I  But  we'll  follow.  It  can't  be  long 
since  they  left,  for  look  how  he's  bled.  'Twotild  have 
killed  hint  if  he  had  lain  more  than  an  hour.  Otir 
beasts  are  better  than  theirs,  may])e,  and  there's  thirty 
miles  to  run.     Why  do  you  shake  your  head?     Is  it 


164  A    SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

the  danger?  I'll  go  alone.  What!  leave  my  own 
little  one  in  the  hands  of  Rathlee?  You  get  back 
to  Mixer's.     Let  me  be.     I  will  have  my  way." 

But  his  hands  were  shaking  even  while  he  spoke, 
and  he  could  hardly  stand  so  much  had  the  shock 
affected  him.  Jeff  told  him  so,  and  half  led,  half 
dragged  him  to  the  wagon.  But  Dan  swore  he 
would  not  leave  the  ranche  except  to  ride  to  Amenta 
to  kill  Sandy  Rathlee,  and  struggled  fiercely  all  the 
way.  Jeff  was  at  his  wit's  end.  To  ride  after  ten 
desperate  men,  even  if  Dan  had  been  really  fit  for 
it,  Avould  be  madness.  The  only  chance  lay  in  organ- 
ising a  rescue  party  from  Chico  Springs  without 
delay,  and  here  Avere  precious  minutes  flying  through 
the  ravings  of  a  frantic  old  man.  At  last  Jeff's 
blood  rose  to  boiling-point,  and  he  was  about  to  tie 
Dan  into  the  wagon  with  his  lasso,  Avhen  he  heard 
the  patter  of  soft  feet,  and  a  dog  fawned  upon  him. 

"  Nat's  Shep,  by  the  Lord !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  the 
next  moment  he  saw  Nat  himself  walking  leisurely 
towards  the  ranche. 

The  news  was  told  in  half  a  dozen  words,  and 
then  Jeff  saw  what  he  never  afterwards  forgot.  It 
is  terrible  to  see  any  strong  nature  roused  to  fury, 
but  the  sight  of  a  man  so  moved,  whom   you   have 


THE    STORM   BURSTS.  165 

hitherto  thought   as  incapable    of  losing   his  self-con- 
trol as  a  piece  of  iron,  is  blood-curdling. 

Xat  said  little  enough.  But  liis  face  stiffened,  his 
brows  contracted,  the  veins  in  his  forehead  stood  out 
like  cords,  and  an  expression  came  into  his  eyes  that 
struck  CA'en  Dan,  half-crazed  as  he  was,  and  caused 
him  to  laugh  a  mirthless  laugh. 

"  You  are  going  to  follo^Y  her.  Come  with  me 
and  let  this  coward  ride  back." 

''  Coward  be  hanged,"'  cried  Jeff,  losing  all  patience. 
"  I  am  not  afraid  of  fifty  Rathlee  gangs,  but  where's 
the  use  of  being  shot?  If  I  don't  saye  the  girl  I 
want  to  burn  the  town,  and  I  can't  do  that  alone. 
Do  you  see  my  meaning,  Xat  ?  " 

"Ride  back  and  bring  them  on.  You"  —  turning 
suddenly  upon  Dan  —  *•  go  Avith  him.  This  is  my 
business.  Off  with  you  both,  and  leaye  Rathlee  to 
me." 

He  glared  into  their  faces  as  he  spoke,  as  if  he 
could  haye  killed  them  for  standing  in  his  way. 
Then  he  passed  his  hand  oyer  his  eyes  with  a  sigh, 
and  walked  quietly  into  the  ranche.  They  watched 
for  him,  wondering  what  he  was  about.  In  a  few 
moments  he  reappeared  with  something  in  his  hand 
—  one    of    Maizie's    hats.     He  knelt    on    the    ground 


166  A   SON    OF    THE    PLAINS. 

and  called  his  dog ;  then  as  Shep  came  sniffing  at 
the  hat,  he  gave  some  order  and  the  dog  dropped 
to  heel.  Nat  threw  the  hat  away,  and  began  to  walk 
slowly  from  the  house.  Presently  the  walk  became 
a  swinging  trot.     He  was  on  the  trail. 

The  Rathlee  gang  were  well-mounted  and  well- 
armed.  If  overtaken  they  would  fight  as  only  such 
men  can  fight,  and  they  had  tasted  blooQl.  But  in 
the  heart  of  the  man  who  followed  them  was  that 
which  gave  him  the  strength  of  ten.  Rathlee  had 
robbed  the  nest.     He  had  now  to  pay  his  price. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

IX   THE   LIOX'S   DEX. 

It  ^Yas  a  blistering,  stifling  day.  There  was  no 
^yind  —  nothing  but  light,  and  heat,  and  dust.  Thun- 
der was  in  the  air,  —  a  rare  thing  in  September, — 
and  l)Y  common  consent  every  soul  in  Amenta  city 
who  could  find  an  excuse  for  lounging  in  the  shade, 
employed  such  energy  as  the  heat  had  left  in  him 
in  languidly  gambling  for  small  stakes,  which  the 
winners    thereof     spent    immediately    afterwards     in 

drinks. 

Amenta  contained  at  this  time  about  a  hundred  and 
fifty  peox^le.  and  covered  a  square  half-mile  of  ground. 
The  dwellino's  were  of  wood  —  smart  ^' frame"  shan- 
ties  painted  black  and  white.  All  were  very  much 
alike  ;  all,  except  the  stores,  were  surrounded  by  a 
fence  of  barbed  wire,  enclosing  a  small  paddock  and 
a  tiny  stable,  and  all  looked  as  if  they  had  been  built 
in  a  day,  and  might  be  blown  away  in  a  night. 

107 


168  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

The  stores,  twenty  in  number,  formed  an  apology  for 
a  street.  They  sported  as  usual  very  large  signboards, 
and  little  else ;  and  by  the  number  of  their  broken 
windows,  stuffed  with  brown  paj)er,  the  rotten 
state  of  their  sidewalks,  and  the  mildewed  ap- 
pearance of  the  storekeepers,  who  looked  as  if  they 
transacted  most  of  their  business  after  midnight,  — 
which  many  of  them  did,  —  it  appeared  as  if  store- 
keeping  was  not  a  profitable  way  of  gaining  a  liveli- 
hood in  Amenta  city. 

There  was  only  one  building  in  the  business  quar- 
ter of  Amenta  Avhich  looked  prosperous,  and  seemed 
to  have  been  made  to  last.  This  was  Nan  Sheehan's 
saloon  —  known  colloquially  as  "Nan's."  It  was 
built  of  adobe  (Mexican  brick)  and  was  bullet-proof, 
fire-proof,  and  hard  and  durable  as  stone.  Here  all 
night  long,  and  for  a  great  part  of  the  day,  a  large 
portion  of  the  citizens  of  Amenta  passed  their  time. 
"  Nan's  "  and  the  race-course  outside  the  town,  where 
the  horse-breeders  of  this  part  of  the  country  arranged 
"trotting  matches,"  were  the  principal  features  of 
Amenta  city.  On  the  course  men  lost  their  money  ; 
at  Nan's  they  borrowed  more  to  try  their  luck  again. 

A  town  where  racing,  gambling,  and  drink  reigned 
supreme    was   not   likely   to    be    a   dwelling-place  for 


IX  THE  lion's  den.  169 

honest  folk,  and  for  Uyo  years  past  Amenta  had 
been  a  rendezvous  for  all  the  scoundrels  of  the  sur- 
rounding country.  Such  places  exist  all  over  the 
world  ;  but,  perhaps,  in  the  western  frontier  in  the 
United  States  twenty  years  ago,  they  were  to  be 
seen  at  their  worst.  Frontier  life  in  those  days  was 
lawless  enough  anywhere.  The  men  who  lived  quietly 
did  so  not  by  obeying  laws  or  paying  for  a  well -or- 
ganised police,  but  by  minding  their  own  business, 
and  sivinof  those  who  had  no  business  clearlv  to 
understand  that  they  were  not  wanted,  and  that  if 
they  interfered  with  peaceable  men  they  would 
receive  short  shrift.  At  times,  even  in  the  best  of 
settlements,  robbery  and  murder  would  occur.  In- 
stantly these  quiet  stock-breeders  and  keepers  of 
stores  left  their  business  to  chase  and  arrest  the 
criminal  ;  then  tried  him,  and  within  twenty-four 
hours  of  the  trial  killed  him,  without  fnss  or  excite- 
ment, pronouncing  sentence  and  carrymg  it  out  as 
methodically  as  they  branded  their  calves  or  sheared 
their  sheep. 

In  the  worst  settlements  order  of  a  sort  was  main- 
tained by  the  existence  of  a  clique  or  ^^ring"  ;  and  the 
inhaljitants  of  the  surrounding  country,  though  often 
suffering  severely  from  the   depredations  of  despera- 


170  A   SON    OF    THE    PLAINS. 

does  and  rowdies  who  had  a  stronghold  to  fly  to,  let 
them  be  with  the  tolerance  characteristic  of  Ameri- 
cans, and  thus,  in  certain  places,  a  state  of  things 
prevailed  almost  inconceivable  in  a  land  of  advanced 
civilization. 

Amenta  at  this  time  had  touched  the  lowest  level 
possible  even  for  such  a  sink  of  iniquity.  The 
troubled  state  of  Calumet  County,  New  Mexico, 
owing  to  the  feud  of  sheep  and  cattle  men,  had 
attracted  there  the  worst  characters  from  other  ter- 
ritories, and  Amenta  was  their  headquarters.  Among 
others  came  Sandy  Rathlee,  Kansas  being  an  uncom- 
fortably warm  locality  since  his  brush  Avith  Dave 
Calderon.  Of  the  many  types  of  degraded  human 
nature  common  in  a  lawless  community,  Rathlee  was 
N(  the  worst.  Born  in  Missouri,  bred  in  Texas,  his 
father  a  mulatto,  his  mother  a  white  woman  of  the 
lowest  character,  the  boy  learned  nothing  but  what 
was  bad.  At  five  and  twenty  years  of  age  he  could 
neither  read  nor  write.  He  had  never  known  what 
gentleness  meant.  His  fine  physique  and  daring 
won  the  respect  of  men  of  a  certain  class  ;  and  an 
energy  and  quickness  of  brain  in  the  man  made  him 
a  leader,  and,  in  such  times  as  these,  he  became  a 
power  to  be  reckoned  with.     In   an  evil  hour  it  was 


IX   THE    lion's    DEX.  171 

suggested  by  a  member  of  the  Cattlemen's  Associa- 
tion that  he  should  be  employed  as  a  scourge  to 
their  enemies.  A  sum  of  money  was  paid  over  to 
him  tu  harry  and  intimidate  quiet  men.  His  first  act 
was  the  raid  upon  Shelfurd's  ranclie,  and  early  in 
the  afternoon  he  rode  into  to\\n  bearing  Maizie  as  a 
prize  for  all  the  world  to  see.  The  audacity  of  the 
adventure  excited  much  enthusiasm  among  Amenta 
men.  The  cruelty  and  atrocity  of  it  was  not  appar- 
ent to  them.  Maizie  had  fainted  from  the  heat  and 
could  make  no  appeal  to  the  few  who  might  have 
felt  some  compunction  ;  and  Rathlee,  having  lodged 
his  booty  safely,  swaggered  into  the  bar  of  Xan's  to 
receive  the  chaff  and  congratulations  of  his  friends. 

This  was  at  two  o'clock,  in  the  fiercest  heat  of  the 
day.  Three  hotirs  later  a  solitary  wayfarer.  foUoAved 
by  a  footsore  dog,  walked  slowly  down  the  road  be- 
tween the  line  of  stores.  Xo  one  noticed  him.  Xo 
one  watched  to  see  where  he  went,  or  wondered  what 
his  business  might  be.  If  they  had  known  it,  how 
they  woidd  have  laughed.  Xat,  himself,  felt  a  cold 
chill  of  despair  as  he  observed  the  number  of  people 
about,  and  thought  of  the  hopelessness  of  setting  his 
liand  ao'aiiist  them.  He  was  worn  out  and  spiritless. 
A    run    of    thirtv    miles    under    an    almost    tropical 


172  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

sun,  without  rest  or  food,  had  exhausted  even  his 
iron  frame.  Nothing  but  his  training  among  the 
Comanches  woukl  have  enabled  him  to  do  it  at  all. 
And  now  that  it  was  done,  what  then  ?  Where  was 
Maizie  ?  The  track  of  the  horsemen  had  been  lost 
among  others  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  and  here 
Avere  fifty  houses,  more  or  less,  in  any  one  of  which 
she  might  be.  Nat  sighed  heavily,  then  with  a 
great  effort  controlling  his  feeling  of  utter  Aveariness 
he  stood  still  and  considered.  Where  could  infor- 
mation be  obtained?  He  looked  about  for  an  hotel 
and  spied  the  saloon.  To  this  house  he  bent  his 
steps,  watching  the  faces  of .  the  men  at  the  bar 
door.  This  entrance  Nat  carefully  avoided,  choos- 
ing a  door  Avhich  seemed  to  belong  to  the  kitchen 
at  the  back.  Here  he  knocked  gently.  The  door 
was  opened  by  a  tall,  middle-aged  Avoman,  no  other 
than  Mistress  Nan  Sheehan  herself,  Avho  asked  his 
business  in  a  suspicious  tone.  Nat  tried  to  ansAver, 
but  found  his  throat  so  parched  AAdth  thirst  that  he 
could  not  speak.  He  saAV  a  bucket  in  the  corner 
Avith  a  dipper  in  it,  and  dumbly  asked  for  Avater. 
Nan  Sheehan  looked  at  him  Avith  her  head  on  one 
side.  She  Avas  a  Avoman  Avithout  a  moral  scruple  of 
any  kind  —  a  tigress  in  her  cups.     Every  one  feared 


IX  THE  lion's  den.  173 

her  —  even  Sandy  Rathlee.  And  this  afternoon,  for 
various  reasons,  she  was  sulkier  than  usuah  Yet  even 
Kan  Sheehan  had  a  soft  spot  in  her  heart,  and  there 
was  something  so  haggard  and  Aveary  in  Xat's  face 
that  the  words  she  had  intended  to  use  died  unspoken 
on  her  hps,  and  Avith  a  grunt  slie  pointed  to  the  bucket. 

"Help  yourself,  then." 

Nat  stepped  past  her,  and  filling  the  dipper  to  the 
brim,  drank  its  contents  at  a  draught. 

The  woman  smiled. 

"  Feel  better  ?  Have  another,  son.  Do  you  travel 
far  ?  " 

Xat  did  not  ansAA'er  for  a  moment  —  the  most  criti- 
cal moment  in  his  life.  The  sight  of  Nan's  face, 
coarse  and  Ijad.  her  eyes  dull  and  V)lood-sliot  from 
constant  drinkino%  her  mouth  hard  and  cruel,  had  made 
him  determine  not  to  stop  here,  and  Avhen  he  raised 
the  dipper  to  his  lips  he  intended  to  take  his  departure 
at  once.  But  the  cool  sjDring  Avater  cleared  his  brain 
and  eye,  and  though  to  Nan  he  appeared  to  Ije  look- 
ing into  her  face,  he  had  seen  something  that  droA'e 
aAvay  all  feeling  of  fatigue  and  sent  the  blood  surg- 
ing through  his  A'eins  at  racing  speed.  It  AA^as  a 
girl's  sun-bonnet,  lying  on  the  back  of  the  cliair 
where  the  bucket  of  Avater  stood. 


174  A    SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am,"  he  said  slowly.  "  That 
depends  on  3-ou.  Will  you  give  me  a  bed  to-night? 
I  have  the  stamps." 

He  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket  and  drew  out  a 
five-dollar  bill. 

Nan's  eyes  glistened.  The  careless  manner  with 
which  Nat  handled  his  money  convinced  her  that 
there  was  more  to  come.     But  she  shook  her  head. 

"Hardly  possible,  friend.  We're  crowded  up. 
Dessay  you  may  have  heard  "  —  here  she  gave  a  leer 
that  made  Nat  want  to  strangle  her  — "  that  a  rush 
of  folk  has  come  to-night.  I  reckoned  to  give  up 
my  own  room,  and  camp  out.  Yet  —  you  have  had 
a  hard  tramp,  and  there  ain't  a  bed  fit  to  sleep  in 
anywhere  else.  We'll  fix  things,  board  included,  for 
that  note.     Will  that  do  ye?" 

Nat  handed  her  the  money.  "What  I  want  most 
is  food.     Any  supper,  mother  ?  " 

The  woman  laughed.  "We'll  get  some  in  a  jiff  — 
but  say  !  Do  you  sup  alone  ?  The  boys  will  be  in  from 
the  bar  presently,  and  you'll  have  good  compan3^" 

"  I'll  eat  by  myself,  I  guess.  After,  when  they 
are  ready,  I  would  like  to  play.  Sandy  Rathlee 
here  to-night  ?  "  He  asked  the  question  softly,  and 
dropped  his  eyes. 


IX  THE  lion's  den.  175 

The  woman  stared.  "  What's  that  for  ?  "  she  said 
in  a  hoarse,  strained  voice.  "  What  have  you  to  do 
with  Sandy  ?  Tell  me  qnick,  or  you  don't  come 
further." 

Nat  saw  that  he  had  made  a  very  serious  blun- 
der. '•  I  wish  to  play  with  him,''  he  replied 
promptly,  —  "a  fair,  square  game."  Then,  as  he  saw 
the  woman  still  eyeing  him  suspiciously,  "  I  will 
tell  you  something.  We  met  some  weeks  ago,  and 
he  nearly  cleaned  me  of  six  thousand  dollars.  I 
want  you — if  he's  here  to-night  —  to  give  me  a 
show  to  be  even  Avith  him,  and  to  hold  the  stakes." 

Nan's  brow  cleared,  though  she  still  looked  curi- 
ous. ''  I'll  do  it,  son.  Durned  if  you  ain't  a  boy 
after  my  own  heart,  small  though  you  be.  Why 
there  ain't  another  man  in  the  county  would  ha' 
dared  to  think  of  such  a  thing.  You  shall  have 
your  way,  a  fair  show  and  all.  Come  now  and 
have  your  supper  quiet  in  my  room.  We  must  fix 
up  the  game  there,  away  from  the  boys.  Have  you 
six  thousand  on  you  now  ?  " 

Nat  coughed  and  hesitated,  or  pretended  to  hesitate 
in  his  answer,  and  Nan  laid  her  hand  on  his  mouth. 
''There,  then  —  say  nothing.  'Tweren't  a  fair  ques- 
tion no  ways.     Follow  me  now,  and  Avalk  quiet." 


176  A   SON   OF    THE   PLAINS. 

She  led  the  way  through  the  kitchen  and  down  a 
long  dark  passage.  Nat's  faculties  were  now  strung  to 
the  highest  pitch ;  as  Nan  turned  away  he  seized 
upon  the  sun-bonnet,  and  dropped  it  under  Shep's 
nose.  The  dog  snuffed  at  it,  and  then,  with  a  low 
whine,  took  it  in  his  mouth.  At  a  sign  from  Nat 
he  dropped  it  again,  and  Nan  found  them  close 
behind  her  when  she  entered  the  passage.  There 
were  three  doors  there,  one  to  the  left,  one  at  the 
end,  one  to  the  right.  The  last  of  these  was  open, 
and  led  to  the  upper  regions  of  the  house.  Nan 
passed  it  and  Nat  followed  her,  but  Shep  stood 
still.  With  his  fore-feet  on  the  first  step  he  looked 
wistfully  at  his  master,  moving  his  nose  slowly 
from  side  to  side,  and  sniffing  at  the  air.  Nat  set 
his  teeth  and  drew  a  long  breath.  How  he  longed 
to  give  Shep  the  sign  he  waited  for,  and  to  follow 
him  up  those  stairs.  But  such  an  action  would  be 
suicidal,  and  he  shook  his  head,  and  very  unwill- 
ingly Shep  crept  back.  Hardly  was  this  over 
when  Nan  turned  round.  She  gave  a  percei)tible 
start  when  she  found  Nat  at  her  elbow.  "You 
might  be  an  Indian,  boy.  You  step  so  quiet  that 
I  most  thought  you'd  reckoned  it  weren't  good 
enough,  and  made  a  scoot." 


IN    THE    lion's   den.  177 

Nat  shook  his  head.  "  I've  come  some  thirty  miles 
to  find  Ratlilee.  All  I  feared  Avas  that  he  might  be 
gone.  I  can  wait  all  night  if  lie's  busy  —  now  that 
yon  will  see  it  through  for  me,  mother." 

Xan  nodded,  smiled  complacently  and  opened  the 
door  at  the  left  of  the  passage.  They  entered  a 
small  room,  the  walls  ornamented  Avith  glass  cases 
full  of  a  variety  of  bottles  containing  samples  of 
every  species  of  spirituous  liquor.  There  was  a 
table  with  a  pack  of  cards  upon  it,  a  miniature  bar, 
and  half  a  dozen  rocking-chairs  and  spittoons. 
Clearly  this  was  a  sanctum  where  Nan  only  admitted 
privileged  guests.  A  door  at  the  end  led  into  the 
saloon  proper.  This  door  was  half  glass,  of  a  kind 
that  enabled  Nan  to  see  all  that  passed  outside 
without  being  observed  herself.  "  You  set  here, 
friend,  while  I  send  in  the  supper.  Are  you  a 
patient  kind  of  man?  I  see  it  in  your  face. 
That's  good  —  fur  Sandy  is  much  occupied,  and  it 
will  be  late  before  I  can  tote  him  to  business. 
He's  come  a  journey,  too,  and  when  he's  tired  he 
sucks  in  whiskey  enough  to  drown  some  men.  Tlien 
without  doubt  he'll  have  contracted  to  play  a  game 
already,  so  it  may  be  two  hours  before  he's  ready. 
I'll  tell  him  at  once,  and  bring  you  his  reply." 


178  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

She  opened  the  glass  door  and  a  rush  of  hot, 
unpleasant  air  came  into  the  room,  with  the  sound 
of  a  babel  of  tongues  which  died  to  a  mere  buzz 
when  the  door  closed  again. 

The  moment  Nat  was  alone  he  looked  round  him 
and  noted  every  detail  in  the  room.  Then  he  stepped 
quietly  to  the  door  of  the  passage,  Avithdrew  a 
key  that  was  in  the  lock,  and  catching  up  some  bits 
of  matches  and  a  cigar-end,  stuffed  them  into  the 
key-hole  and  jammed  them  there  firmly  with  the 
end  of  the  key.  It  would  be  impossible  to  secure  the 
door  again  without  a  patient  picking  out  of  all  this 
rubbish. 

This  done,  he  went  to  the  glass  door.  The 
saloon  was  a  long  room,  and  at  the  end  nearest  to 
him  was  a  table  set  for  supper  for  many  men, 
beyond  it  were  card-tables,  and  beyond  that  the  bar 
itself  and  a  stove  with  a  ring  of  chairs.  Every 
available  inch  of  room  was  occupied  by  men.  Nat 
ran  his  eye  quickly  over  the  crowd  and  calculated 
that  there  were  at  least  fifty.  Behind  the  bar  were 
two  Chinamen  serving  drinks  at  a  great  speed. 
Nan,  her  arms  akimbo  and  a  smile  upon  her  face, 
was  standing  between  these  two  men,  towering  a  head 
above  both,  and  exchanging  chaff  and  greetings  with 


IN    THE    lion's    DEX.  179 

her  customers.  Seeing  her  thus  occupied,  Xat  left 
this  door  and  cautiously  opened  the  other.  The 
passage  was  empty,  the  only  door  open  being  the 
one  on  the  stairs.  To  this  door  Xat  went  with  his 
quick,  soundless  tread,  drew  the  key  from  the  lock, 
and  with  some  more  rubbish  he  had  taken  with  him 
stuffed  up  the  key-hole  securely.  The  whole  opera- 
tion barely  occupied  a  minute.  Then  he  returned 
to  Xan's  parlour  and  peered  through  the  glass  door 
again.  She  was  no  longer  behind  the  bar,  but  nearer 
to  him.  talking  to  one  man  a2:)art  from  the  rest  — 
and  Xat's  heart  gave  a  fierce  leap,  as  he  involtm- 
tarily  clenched  his  hands.  This  man  was  Sandy 
Rathlee. 

Every  detail  in  Rathlee's  dress,  form,  and  face 
Xat  marked  down.  The  round,  cat-like  head,  the 
light-brown  eyes,  near  together,  the  nose  broad  and 
flat,  with  full  nostrils,  the  bushy  moustache,  thick  lips 
and  heaAw  jaw.  The  tall,  powerful  figure  of  the 
man  was  far  too  large  for  his  head,  which  looked 
like  an  apple  on  the  top  of  his  broad  shoulders. 
By  night  or  by  day  Xat  would  know  this  man. 
When  the  conversation  was  finished  Xan  led  the 
way  to  the  parlour,  Rathlee  following  with  an  ex- 
pression   of    some    perplexity.       Xat    saw    this,    and 


180  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

divined  that  Ratlilee  was  cudgelling  his  brains  to 
think  of  a  man  he  had  played  cards  with  for  six 
thousand  dollars.  The  risk  of  detection  now  became 
very  great,  but  boldness  was  the  only  policy  now. 

"  Here's  the  little  man,  Sandy,"  was  Nan's  in- 
troduction. "  D'ye  remember  him  ?  You  ought  to. 
He  seems   to   remember  you." 

She  laughed,  but  her  eyes  were  anxious  and  en- 
quiring, and  from  the  scowl  on  Rathlee's  face  Nat 
judged  that  the  genuineness  of  his  mission  was  more 
than  doubted.  Rathlee  gave  an  ugly  grin.  "  Never 
saw  him  in  my  life.  You've  been  well  fooled,  Nanny 
girl,  and  if  I  come  in  anyways  at  all,  it  will  be  to  kick 
the  little  sheep-man  out.  AY  hat  say  ?  Six  thousand 
dollars,  indeed  ;  six  thousand  dead  grasshoj^pers  !  I 
tell  you  it's    a    lie    right   through." 

He  gave  a  fleering  laugh,  and  Nat  was  blinded  for 
an  instant  by  the  rush  of  hot  blood  to  his  brain. 
But  the  instinct  of  self-control  kept  him  still  and  so 
quiet  outwardly  that  Nan,  looking  from  one  face  to 
the  other,  only  saw  his  eyes  dilate  and  a  curious 
pallor  overspread  his  face.  He  took  a  step  forward. 
"  Your  memory  is  short.  Though  the  night  was 
dark  I  saw  your  face.  Do  you  remember  Clinter'.; 
Ford?" 


IN   THE   lion's    den.  181 

Ratlilee  started  and  caught  his  under-lip  between 
his  teeth.  "  By  ,"  he  exclaimed,  "  it's  the  Co- 
manche I " 

''  I  had  sold  my  sheep,"  Xat  went  on,  speaking  to 
Nan,  ''  and  was  journeying  West  with  six  thousand 
dollars.  This  man  and  his  friends  reckoned  to  release 
my  pile,  and  tried  their  level  best  at  Clinter's  Ford. 
But  we  went  through  them,  and  though  they  followed 
on,  the  sheriff  jumped  them  before  we  reached  Las 
Animas.     Sandy   Rathlee   ran  away." 

Nat  said  the  last  words  very  slowly,  and  Rathlee 
went  purple  in  the  face.  He  saw,  however,  tliat  any 
outburst  of  rage  would  only  make  him  ridiculous, 
and  tried  to  turn  it  off  with  a  laugh.  "  He  has  it 
pretty  straight.  That  was  a  piece  of  bad  luck  for 
us.  Well,  sonny,  and  what's  now?  Want  to  play 
me?  Why,  you  ought  to  go  to  the  sheriff  yonder 
—  you  can  see  him  at  the  bar  —  and  tell  him  to 
rope  me  in  as  a  notorious  road  agent.     Ha,  ha  ! " 

"  That  may  come,"  Nat  answered,  his  immovable 
face  in  strong  contrast  to  the  other's  glaring  like 
a  tiger's  at  bay;  "but  not  in  Amenta.  I  have  fol- 
lowed you  to  do  what  I  said  a  while  ago  —  play  a 
square  game  —  madam  here  to  hold  the  stakes." 
-And  the   stakes?" 


182  A   SOX   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

"  I'll  name  them  when  we  sit  down  to  it.  Will 
you  pLay?" 

Rathlee  looked  at  the  sj)eaker  from  head  to  foot 
for  several  seconds  without  answering.  He  did  not 
know  that  Maizie  had  been  in  the  coach  at  Clinter's 
Ford,  and  no  direct  suspicion  of  Nat's  purpose  had 
entered  in  his  mind  ;  but  now  something  in  the  ex- 
pression of  the  hawk-like  face,  for  all  its  quietness, 
—  a  glitter  in  the  eyes,  an  intensity  of  resolution  in 
the  tightly  compressed  lips,  —  gave  Rathlee  a  vague 
consciousness  of  what  lay  behind  this  "game."  He 
laughed,  for  Rathlee  was  no  coward,  with  a  look  in 
his  sinister  eyes  that  made  even  Nan  shiver.  Sud- 
denly he  thrust  out  his  hand.  "  We'll  play,  Co- 
manche.    You   can't   make   the   stakes   too   high." 

The  fingers  of  the  men  then  closed  in  a  grasp 
which  was  not  that  of  friendship,  and  the  smile  died 
out  of  Rathlee's  face.  It  was  a  very  little  thing, 
but  he  had  expected  by  the  strength  of  his  grip  to 
make  his  enemy  feel  his  inferiority.  He  found  to  his 
astonishment  that  the  fingers  of  the  other  grasped 
his  own  hand,  big  as  it  was,  so  fiercely  that  it  lay 
between  them  flaccid  and  powerless  as  a  child's. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

NOT   FOESAKEN. 

"  You  see  liis  game,  Xan  ?  " 

"I  don't,  indeed." 

Rathlee  laughed  unpleasantly.  They  had  left  Nat 
and  Avere  talking  in  Avhispers  in  tlie  dining-room. 
''  It's  plain  as  morning  light.  Some  ways  the  little 
Comanche  has  heard  of  my  bust  this  morning,  and 
he's  come  to  take  her  away,  and  to  choke  me,  or  knife 
me,  or  shoot  me,  as  may  he  most  conyenient.  Per- 
haps she  is  his  girl.  Who  knows  ?  Anyway  he's  a 
sheep-man  and  she's  a  sheep-man's  daughter.  I'll  bet 
you  all  I  have — I'll  bet  you  the  little  bird  herself  — 
that  his  stakes  are  just  her  and  nothing  else  in  the 
world.  I've  seen  that  look  in  a  man's  eye  once 
before." 

''When  was  that?" 

"Eh?  Oh  —  a  little  while  back.  Never  you  mind 
my  business,  friend.     I  tell  you  it  don't  pay  folk  to 

183 


184  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

look  at  me  his  way.  Comanche  Nat  will  find  out 
that  before  he's  a  day  older." 

"  Why  is  he  named  so  ?  " 

"  They  say  he  was  in  Comanche  camp,  —  kidnapped 
by  some  chief  when  a  child.  He's  been  after  girls 
before.  When  I  first  heard  of  him,  he  snicked  two 
from  the  Arapahoes,  and  brought  'em  safe  to  Seckers- 
burg,  Kansas.  This  will  be  his  last  frolic,  little 
skunk  !  But,  say,  I'm  thirsty.  I'll  get  back  to  the 
boys  now  and  put  them  up  to  the  fun  that's  coming. 
I  suppose  supper  won't  be  long.  Give  him  a  big 
one,  Nanny,  it  will  be  a  tidy  while  before  he  gits 
another." 

He  gave  a  meaning  chuckle  and  swaggered  away 
to  the  bar.  Nan  Sheehan  stood  still  thinking,  then 
walked  slowly  down  the  passage  to  the  left  of  her 
own  room  and,  softly  opejiing  the  door,  peeped  in. 

Nat,  having  made  his  plans,  was  lying  back  in 
one  of  the  rocking-chairs  with  closed  eyes.  Nan 
with  a  tread  as  soft  as  a  cat's  crept  up  to  him.  The 
fatigue  of  the  long  run  and  the  warm  room  had  over- 
powered him  for  a  few  moments,  and  he  had  fallen 
asleep.  What  was  it  that  stirred  Nan  Sheehan  with 
a  feeling  that  she  had  not  felt  since  girlhood  ?  She 
was  a  bad  woman  —  corrupt  and  degraded  years  and 


:^^0T    FORSAKEN.  185 

years  ago  ;  lier  nature,  naturally  stubborn  and  rude, 
was  now  harder  than  that  of  most  of  the  men  she 
mixed  with,  as  the  nature  of  a  woman  who  has  fallen 
must  always  be.  And  yet  she  was  a  woman  still. 
As  she  looked  into  the  sleeper's  face.  —  to  her  that 
of  a  mere  boy  —  which  a  few  hours  hence  would  be 
cold  and  dead,  her  heart  ached.  Twenty  years 
asro  Xan  had  been  a  motlier.  Her  babv  lived  three 
years,  then  slowly  wasted  away  with  malignant  fever. 
This  liad  been  the  grief  of  her  life,  and  though  she 
had  tried  to  stifle  it  since  by  drink  and  evil  living, 
the  memory  of  the  child  was  in  her  heart  as  fresh 
as  ever.  Had  he  lived,  she  thought,  he  would  have 
been  just  the  age  of  this  lad,  with  the  same  audacity, 
fearlessness,  and  strength  of  will. 

A  shout  of  lauo-hter  came  from  the  bar  of  the  saloon. 
Rathlee  was  telling  his  friends  of  the  "fim"  which 
lay  in  store  for  them  to-night.  Xan  heard  him. 
Her  face  became  stern  and  hard,  and  she  muttered 
strong  words  between  her  teeth.  She  was  a  violent 
woman,  dangerous  to  rouse.  The  soimd  woke  Xat. 
He  did  not  start  when  he  saw  the  face  above  him, 
but  Xan  noticed  his  eye  glance  swiftly  round  the 
room,  as  one  who  felt  that  he  was  in  danger.  She 
laid  a  hand    upon   his    shotdder.      -Rest,  son.      This 


186  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

house  is  mine,  not  Sandy's."  She  was  about  to  say 
more,  when  the  promised  supper  was  brought  in,  and 
Nat  set  so  vigorously  to  work  upon  steak  and  pota- 
toes, beans  and  sour-krout,  bread,  butter,  cheese,  and 
coffee,  that  Nan  bided  her  time  and  sat  and  watched 
him  in  silence.  Her  presence  there  would  have  de- 
stroyed Nat's  appetite  if  anything  could  have  done 
so,  for  the  plan  he  had  laid  down  Avas  to  find  his  way 
to  Maizie  while  his  hostess  was  engaged  elsewhere. 
It  was  not  difficult  to  detect  interest  and  approval  in 
Nan's  face.  Whatever  the  cause,  she  seemed  disposed 
to  be  friendly.  But  what  might  not  lie  behind  ?  The 
one  comfort  to  Nat  was  that  he  felt  sure  Maizie  was 
in  the  house  and  unhurt,  and  that  Mistress  Sheehan 
had  not  the  least  suspicion  of  his  purpose. 

A  few  minutes  sufficed  to  enable  Nat  to  refresh 
himself  sufficiently.  Nan  cleared  away  the  dishes 
herself,  and  as  the  door  closed  behind  her,  Nat 
hoped  the  moment  for  action  had  come.  But  slie 
returned  again  almost  immediately,  uidocked  a  case 
containing  bottles  and  placed  one  full  of  whiskey  on 
the  table.  There  was  a  look  of  excitement  on  her 
face.  Signing  to  Nat  to  help  himself,  she  filled  a 
tumbler  half  full  of  the  spirit,  and  drank  it  at  a 
breath. 


XOT   FORSAKEN.  187 

*' Drink,  son, — come!  Pshaw,  what  a  thimbleful. 
A  man  who  runs  thirty  miles  to  meet  a  lion  in  his  den 
and  stirs  him  up  when  he  gets  there  as  you  stirred 
Sandy,  must  keep  himself  wtll  nourished."  She 
paused  to  drink  again.  '•  What  interests  me,"  she 
went  on  slowly.  ••  are  the  stakes  you  play  Sandy  for 
to-night.  I  guess  you  might  hand  them  over  now. 
The  boys  are  so  eager  that  perhaps  they  won't  be 
long.     Where  are  those  stakes,  my  son?" 

She  smiled  and  shook  her  fino-er  at  him.  Xat  felt 
that  the  end  was  coming.  '"In  the  room  above  us,'' 
he  answered  coolly. 

Xan  gave  a  slight  start.  "  How  did  you  guess  she 
was  there  ?  " 

"Isn't  it  so?" 

"Yes." 

They  looked  at  one  another  intently,  and  the  room 
was  as  still  as  death.  Xat  knew  his  life  was  not 
worth  a  minute's  purchase.  From  the  dining-table 
came  the  clatter  of  knives  and  forks,  the  Rathlee 
gang  were  not  ten  yards  away,  but  there  vras  no 
sound  in  Xan's  parlour  except  the  breathing  of  those 
two   trving^  to  read  one  another's   thouo-hts. 

I/O  o 

The  woman  spoke  first.  "  HaA'C  you  come  all  this 
way  for  her?"' 


188  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

"Yes." 

"  And  when  you  have  found  her  —  " 

"Take  her  home." 

"But  you  are  corralled." 

''  I  know." 

"  If  I  tell  the  boys  you'll  be  blown  to  little  bits  in 
one   half -minute . ' ' 

"  You  will  not  tell  the  boys."  He  changed  his 
position  slightly,  and  Nan  saw  that  he  held  cocked  a 
revolver. 

She  folded  her   arms  and  smiled. 

"How  will  that  serve  ye?  You  shoot  straight,  I 
warrant,  but  they  will  be  upon  you  just  as  quick. 
You  cannot  frighten  me  if  that's  your  notion.  I 
was  never  scared  in  all  my  life." 

Nat  lowered  the  muzzle  of  his  pistol.  "  Will  you 
help  me,  then  ?  " 

The  appeal  Avas  made  quite  simply.  Nan  did  not 
feel  that  the  suspicion  of  a  threat  lay  behind  it.  She 
smiled  again.  "  And  be  blown  to  bits  myself  ?  See  — 
I'll  tell  you  something.  The  boys  know.  Sandy 
guessed  it  from  your  looks.  You  are  in  a  tight  place, 
Comanche  Nat.  I've  seen  many  on  the  spikes  in  my 
time,  but  none  worse  fixed  than  you.  How  do  you 
feel,  lad?     Tell  us  that." 


NOT    FOESAKEX.  189 

She  was  still  smiling,  and  Xat  thought  she  was 
mocking  his  despair.  Had  he  been  less  desperate  he 
could  have  killed  her  for  her  cruelty,  hut  nothing 
affected  him  no^Y.  For  a  little  while  he  sat  still, 
listening.  Then  he  rose  and  riuietlv  moA'ed  hack- 
wards  towards  the  door.  The  reA'olver  was  still  in 
his  hand,  and  Xan,  Avatching  him  keenly,  knew  that  if 
she  made  a  movement  towards  the  bar,  or  raised  her 
voice,  she  would  pay  for  it  Avitli  her  life.  Tlie  situa- 
tion affected  her  curiously.  The  strange  notion  that 
her  son,  had  he  lived,  Avottld  have  been  in  this  lad's 
place,  overcame  her  entirely  now.  A  dark  flush  OA'er- 
spread  her  face  and  she  held  out  her  hands  Avith  a 
gesture  of  entreaty.  ''  Stop  it,  sonny.  Stop  it.  I  say, 
rir/7it  there.  I  were  only  fooling.  I  SAvear  now  — 
and  God  Almighty  knoAvs  I  never  broke  my  oath  — 
that  I  Avill  stand  with  you  to  the  death.  Aye.  agin 
Sandy  Rathlee,  though  he  has  been  my  friend,  and 
agin  all  he  can  bring  to  help  him.  though  they  was 
devils  instead  of  men.  If  ye  don't  believe  me.  take 
your  knife  and  drive  it  through.  'Twill  make  no 
sound,  and  give  you  the  chance  you  wish  to  get  her 
clean  away,  and  dead  folk  tell  no  tales.  Do  what  you 
p>lease.  I  will  stand  'tAveen  yoti  and  those  who'll  mur- 
kier ye  —  if  I  Avring  Sandy's  neck  Avith  my  own  hands." 


190  A    SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

She  had  crossed  the  room  to  hmi  noAv,  and  stood 
with  her  hands  behind  her  back,  breathing  heavily. 
Nat  gave  her  one  quick  glance,  and  then  thrust  his 
pistol  into  its  sheath.  "  I  take  your  words  as  they 
are  spoken,  mother.     Shall  we  go  upstairs  ?  " 

A  smile,  like  a  rift  of  sunlight  between  dark  clouds, 
lit  up  the  woman's  heavy  face.  She  grasped  his  hand 
with  one  of  hers  and  laid  the  other  on  his  shoulder. 
"  I'll  take  you  to  her  quick  as  we  kin  step.  It  will 
make  me  young  myself  to  see  you  two.  Let  me 
say  this  while  I  have  the  chance.  She  is  worthy  of 
you,  lad.  She  never  cried  nor  winced  one  little  bit, 
—  slip  of  a  thing  as  she  is,  —  but  kept  quiet  and 
stiff -like  in  the  face,  and  thanked  me  when  I  brought 
her  up  some  coffee,  as  if  she  were  in  an  hotel.  Now 
come  ;  there  ain't  no  time  to  waste." 

With  a  swift  tread,  as  quiet  as  Nat's  own,  Nan 
led  the  way  through  the  hall,  and  up  the  stairs. 
Nat's  heart  began  to  beat  so  fast  now  that  he  lost 
his  breath.  If  any  doubt  had  existed  in  his  mind 
as  to  Mistress  Sheehan's  good  faith,  it  was  dispelled 
by  the  sight  of  Shep,  who,  though  restrained  by  his 
intelligence  from  barking,  asserted  liimself  by  bound- 
ing up  the  stairs  in  front  of  them,  his  ears  erect 
and  his  tail  wagging  violently.     At  the   door  of  the 


NOT    FORSAKEN.  191 

first  landing  he  paused  and  wldned.  Nan  stopped 
at  the  stair  head.  ''  He's  took  you  there,  not  me. 
Tell  the  boys  so  if  they  ask  questions.  I'll  go  no 
further  now.  In  a  few  minutes  I'll  call  for  you  and 
let  ye  out.     Till  then  all's  safe." 

She  turned  back  down  the  stairs,  and  Xat  was 
left  in  the  passage  with  a  key  in  his  hand.  It  was 
growing  dark,  and  when  he  opened  the  door  he 
was  only  just  able  to  distinguish  the  outline  of  a 
girl's  figure  by  the  light  of  a  small  window  in  the 
roof,  —  the  room  was  a  mere  attic,  —  and  could  not 
see  her  face  at  all. 

For  an  instant  he  stood  still  without  speaking  a 
word.  The  next,  Maizie  had  recognised  him,  and 
sprang,   with  a  cry  he  never  forgot,  into  liis  arms. 

''Nat!  Oh,  thank  God  —  thank  God  I  I  prayed 
for  you,  and  it  has  brought  you.  I  feel  so  safe 
I  could  laugh  at  all  I  have  been  through  to-day, 
if  it  were  not  so  horrdjle  that  I  wonder  I  don't 
go  mad.  But  I  will  not  think  of  it  now.  How 
good  of  you  to  have  come.  Where  have  you  been 
all  this  time  ?  We  have  so  missed  3'ou.  Hush  ! 
Hush  I  I  heard  his  voice.  I  am  sure  I  did.  I  mean 
that  man's.  Or  was  it  that  horrible  woman  ?  No,  I 
was    mistaken.     It  was    only  fancy.     Don't    laugh  if 


192  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

I  begin  to  cry  ;  you  don't  know  what  terror  I  have 
been  in.  The  Indians  were  nothing  to  these  men. 
If  you  had  not  come  I  must  have  gone  mad.  What 
a  coward  you  will  think  me  ;  and  once  you  said  I 
was  brave.  But  I  cannot  help  it.  It  has  been  too 
hard  to  bear  all  alone.  If  I  had  known  you  were 
coming  I  would  have  laughed  at  them  all." 

Maizie  tried  to  laugh  now,  but  her  voice  was  choked 
with  sobs,  which  could  be  held  back  no  longer,  and 
burying  her  face  in  Nat's  breast,  she  cried  like  a 
little  child. 

As  for  Nat,  he  was  as  much  overcome  as  Maizie 
herself,  though  his  agitation  took  a  different  form. 
The  distress  of  mind  and  misery  and  apprehension 
she  must  have  endured  for  her  firm  nerves  and  brave 
spirit  to  be  brought  so  low,  made  him  positively  sick 
with  rage.  He  could  think  of  no  words  of  comfort, 
though  he  racked  his  brain  to  say  something.  All 
he  could  do  was  to  stroke  her  hair,  usually  so  smooth 
and  neat,  and  now  flowing  loose  and  dishevelled  over 
her  shoulders,  and  to  kiss  her  on  the  forehead  as 
gently  as  he  might  have  kissed  a  sister. 

But  this  was  enough  ;  and  very  soon  the  slender 
frame  ceased  to  tremble,  the  sobs  became  less  and 
less  violent,  and  at  last  Maizie   raised  her  head,   dis- 


NOT   FORSAKEN.  193 

engaged  herself  from  liis  arms,  and  pnslied  back  her 
hair  with  both  hands.  ''  I  am  very  sorry  to  be  so 
foolish,"  she  said,  in  her  natural  voice  —  a  little 
tremulous  still.  '•  How  good  you  are,  Xat,  to  be  so 
patient  with  me.  It  is  over,  quite  over.  Xow  tell 
me  liow  you  came  in  this  wonderful  way  just  when 
I  needed  you  most." 

Nat  told  his  story,  and  then  slowly  and  cautiously 
described  their  present  position.  They  were  sitting 
on  the  bed  side  by  side,  for  there  were  no  chairs  in 
the  room,  and  he  took  her  hand.  "You  say  you 
feel  safe.  But  I  am  alone.  Rathlee  has  all  this 
town  at  his  back,  and  our  only  chance  is  to  creep 
away  toward  Chico  Springs  before  he  leaves  his 
supper.  Nan  Sheehan  is  our  friend.  I  think.  But 
she  cannot  hold  them  in,  and  when  they  find  you 
are  gone  they  will  hunt  for  us  like  blood-hounds. 
At  present  we  are  to  keep  quiet  till  Nan  brings 
word  that  the  way  is  clear.  A  rescue  party  may 
come  from  Chico  Springs,  but  the  men  cannot  be 
collected  all  at  once,  and  they  have  forty  miles  to 
ride.     We  must  not  expect  them  before  midnight." 

The  room  was  quite  dark  now,  and  Maizie  could 
not  find  the  right  words  to  express  what  she  wanted 
to  say  ;    she  could    only  press  his   hand  with  both  of 


194  A    SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

hers.  The  touch  wakened  into  sudden  life  a  longing 
in  Nat's  heart  which  had  been  there  for  many  weeks. 
In  a  few  minutes  they  would  start  upon  their  peril- 
ous journey  ;  before  they  started  he  must  know. 
^'Maizie  — "  It  was  now  his  turn  to  stop  and  blush 
and  tremble  in  the  darkness  ;  it  seemed  almost  a 
mockery  to  speak. 

"Yes,  Nat." 

The  words  came  quite  quietly,  though  his  hand  held 
hers  with  intense  pressure.  Nat's  heart  sank.  But 
he  would  know  all,  and  as  the  feeling  of  hopelessness 
grew  apace,  his  nervousness  became  less.  ''I  want 
you  to  tell  me  one  thing.  There  is  little  in  it  —  for 
you;  but  it  is  life  and  more  to  me.  I — "  again 
he  paused,  struggling  with  his  words,  and  uttering 
them  one  at  a  time  in  sharp  jerks  like  revolver  shots. 
Maizie,  quite  sure  that  she  knew  what  he  meant, 
but  with  a  queer  thrill  at  her  heart  for  which  she 
could  not  account,  tried  to  help  him  out. 

"  Yes,  dear  Nat,  I  have  seen  it,  and  I  hope  all 
may  go  well.  You  know  that  you  can  rely  upon 
nie  —  to  do  anything  that  will  make  you  happy.  I 
have  never  known  any  man  before  as  I  have  known 
you — and  there  is  no  one  I  Avould  so  dearly  love 
as  my  brother  —  no  one  in  the  world." 


NOT   FORSAKEN.  195 

She  spoke  earnestly,  but,  at  the  last,  verv  tremu- 
lously. To  her  surprise,  the  hands  that  held  hers 
so  tightly  suddenly  relaxed  their  pressure,  and  became 
cold  and  nerveless.  She  heard  him  sigh  the  short, 
sharp  sigh  of  one  who  puts  away  by  a  great  effort 
some  thouQfht  of  which  his  mind  had  been  full.  A 
sudden  feeling  of  dismayed  perplexity  overwhelmed 
Maizie.  She  had  made  some  fearful  blunder.  It 
was  not  Bel,  after  all,  whom  he  cared  for.  Supposing 
—  but  at  this  moment  all  conjecture  came  to  a  full 
stop,  for  Shep,  who,  after  claiming  a  fidl  share  of 
Maizie's  attention,  had  curled  himself  up  at  the  door 
of  the  room,  now  gave  a  low  growl,  and  rose  bristling 
all  over.     There  were  steps  on  the  stairs. 

Maizie  instinctively  crept  closer  to  Xat.  "It  is 
Nan,"  he  said  in  his  natural  tone,  but  without  taking 
Maizie's  hand  again.     *•  Shep,  come  to  heel." 

A  light  flickered  in  the  passage,  and  Mistress  Shee- 
han  made  her  appearance,  with  a  lamp  in  her  hand. 
"  Sorry  to  intrude,  young  people,"  she  said,  noting 
with  a  grim  smile  that  Maizie  trembled  at  her  voice, 
and  grasped  Xat's  arm  with  both  hands.  "But  if 
you  are  goin',  you'd  better  git.  I  have  put  all  the 
boys  outside  to  the  bar  and  dining-room,  and  they 
are  well  set  down  to  the  whiskey.     There's  just  time 


196  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

for  you  to  slip  throngli  the  passage,  and  scoot.  Which 
way  are  you  goin'  to  strike,  Comanche  boy  —  Chico 
Springs  ?  We — el,  then  I  knows  which  way  to  direct 
Sandy.  Quick,  now,  and  if  you  hear  a  commotion 
after  a  bit,  don't  be  thinking  I  have  gone  back  on 
you.  I  must  give  the  alarm  at  the  right  moment, 
and  then  start  them  wrong.  D'you  sabe  ?  Well, 
then  come." 

Without  further  words  they  stole  softly  down  tlie 
stairs.  Nan  first  with  the  light,  Maizie  and  Nat 
following,  Shep  covering  the  rear.  As  they  passed 
through  the  passage  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  they 
heard  the  laughter  and  loud  talking  of  the  men  in 
the  saloon,  and  INIaizie  turned  so  white  that  Nat 
feared  she  was  about  to  faint,  but  she  looked  up 
into  his  face  and  smiled,  and  walked  bravely  on 
through  the  kitchen  where  a  Chinaman  was  washing 
dishes.  He  took  no  notice  of  them,  and  now  they 
reached  the  door  where  Nat  had  entered  first  of 
all.  Nan  opened  it,  and  signed  to  Maizie  to  pass 
out.  Nat  she  touched  on  the  shoulder,  and  as  he 
looked  into  her  face  he  saw  that  her  eyes  were  full 
of  tears.  ''You  see,  I  done  it,  boy,"  she  whispered 
hoarsely,  "though  it  may  be  my  death.  But  that 
is  naught.     I'd  do  it  again  twenty  times,  though  they 


KOT   FORSAKEN.  197 

killed  me  every  time.  AVhat  I  want  to  say  is,  should 
they  corral  you  spite  of  all,  tell  them  to  bring  you 
back  to  Nan's  and  kill  you  tliere.  Til  be  ready  for 
that,  and  maybe  we'll  contrive  a  way  to  fool  them 
even  then." 

She  gave  him  a  pat  on  the  slioulder,  and  before 
he  could  answer  pushed  him  into  tlie  street  and  shut 
the  door  in  his  face.  Xat  drew  Maizie's  arm  within 
his  own,  and  looked  warily  about  liim.  The  first 
part  of  the  work  he  had  set  out  to  do  this  morning 
was  done,  but  in  a  strange  toAvn,  with  nothing  but 
their  own  feet  to  trust  to,  and  the  nearest  point  of 
safety  forty  miles  away,  there  was  a  great  deal  left 
to  do. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

WAR   TO   THE   KNIFE. 

Amenta  was  brisk  and  busy.  Every  one  but  the 
storekeepers  was  lounging,  chatting,  and  smoking  on 
and  off  the  sidewalks.  Nat  and  Maizie  found  them- 
selves in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of  idlers,  many  of  whom 
began  at  once  to  take  a  lively  interest  in  their  move- 
ments. There  was  a  rising  moon,  the  sky  was  cloud- 
less, and  though  the  flaring  lamps  of  the  stores  threw 
dark  shadows  around  their  narrow  arcs  of  light,  a 
more  unfortunate  time  could  hardly  have  been  chosen 
for  the  object  Nat  had  in  view.  Worst  of  all,  he  could 
tell  by  the  convulsive  twitch  Alaizie  gave  at  his  arm 
when  two  men  hailed  her  with  some  rude  banter  in 
passing,  that  her  nerves  had  not  recovered  from  the 
shock  her  recent  danger  had  given  them,  and,  yet, 
for  the  ordeal  she  had  to  pass  through  now,  coolness 
was  vitally  necessary. 

Maizie   hoped   that    Nat   would   choose    some    dark 

198 


WAR   TO    THE    KNIFE.  199 

path  along  wliicli  they  coiikl  slip  unperceived.  But 
he  knew  that  to  avoid  light  and  the  public  Avay,  in 
spite  of  its  dangers,  would  he  fatal.  His  quick  eye 
noticed  that  the  instant  Xan's  door  closed  upon  them 
more  than  one  man  stopped  to  look  at  Maizie.  Prob- 
ably Ilathlee  had  carried  her  openly  through  the 
town.  If  so,  the  only  chance  of  preventing  a  hue  and 
cry  being  raised  was  to  saunter  down  the  street  among 
the  rest,  and  not  to  attempt  escape  into  the  darkness 
until  the  limit  of  the  light  was  reached.  Xat,  there- 
fore, with  a  whispered  word  of  encouragement,  boldly 
passed,  at  a  deliberate  pace,  those  who  turned  to  look 
at  them,  and,  with  an  air  of  unconcern  that  his  Indian 
training  had  thoroughly  taught  him  Iioav  to  assume, 
walked  on,  taking  the  centre  of  the  road  where  the 
crowd  was  thinnest,  but  stopping  at  intervals  as  if 
to  examine  the  goods  displayed  in  some  of  the  win- 
dows of  the  stores.  So  warily,  and  at  so  leisurely  a 
pace  Avas  he  obliged  to  take  his  way,  that  it  Avas  half 
an  hour  before  the  busy  part  of  Amenta  had  been 
passed.  It  Avas  one  of  the  Avorst  half-hours  Maizie 
ever  endured.  TavIcc,  men  swaggering  by  in  jingling 
spurs,  broad-brimmed  sombreros,  and  Indian  shirts 
gaudily  embroidered  Avith  beads  and  fringes,  Avould 
have  jostled   her    rudely,  but    for    Xat's   quickness  in 


200  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

perceiving  their  intention.  As  a  result  they  ran 
against  him  instead,  and  one  had  his  toes  badly 
pounded,  and  the  other  received  the  point  of  an  elbow 
in  his  ribs,  and  nearly  lost  his  balance  altogether. 
Both  used  strong  language,  and  turned  to  pick  a 
quarrel ;  but  Nat  had  slipped  to  one  side  and  was 
standing  so  still,  and  looked  so  innocent,  that  they 
half  believed  it  must  have  been  some  one  else, 
and  passed  on  grumbling.  Once  a  man,  very  drunk, 
went  so  far  as  to  lay  a  hand  on  ]\Iaizie's  shoulder. 
She  gave  a  little  cry  and  hid  her  face  in  Nat's  coat, 
thinking  all  was  over.  Nat  caught  the  man  by  the 
neck  and  with  a  wrench  and  a  twist  that  sent  him  reel- 
ing back  upon  a  friend  also  drunk,  who  first  cursed 
him  savagely,  and  then  seeing  what  had  happened 
struck  as  savagely  at  Maizie  with  a  heavy  wagon- 
whip.  Nat  drew  her  out  of  reach  of  the  blow,  and 
spoke  to  Shep.  The  next  instant  the  owner  of  the 
whip  was  yelling  like  a  maniac  and  dancing  with  pain, 
having  received  a  bite  in  the  upper  part  of  his  heel 
that  would  have  lamed  him  for  life  but  for  the  heavy 
boots  he  wore.  It  was  a  critical  moment.  A  crowd 
instantly  gathered  round.  If  tliey  sympathised  with 
the  enemy,  it  would  go  hard  with  Nat.  But  they 
did  not.     Even  in  Amenta  a  blow  aimed  at  an  unof- 


WAR   TO   THE   KNIFE.  201 

fending  woman  ^Yas  considered  bad  taste.  And  amid 
cries  of  "  Well  sarved,"  — ''  Bully  for  the  dog,"  — 
"  Bite  him  again,  waggo,"  —  the  man  Avas  hustled  away 
and  Xat  and  Maizie  passed  on  unmolested. 

The  end  of  the  main  street  was  noAv  at  hand,  and 
after  a  little  diplomatic  loitering  at  the  last  of  the 
stores,  they  slipped  into  the  comparative  darkness 
beyond,  and  had  nothing  now  to  fear  but  systematic 
pursuit  from  Rathlee.  There  was  no  danger  of  Nat 
losing  his  way.  He  could  guide  himself  by  the  stars 
as  easily  as  by  the  sun,  and  he  knew  the  direction  of 
Chico  Springs. 

Maizie  began  to  recover  her  spirits.  The  cool, 
refreshing  air  and  the  freedom  from  interference 
soothed  and  quieted  her  fears.  She  no  longer  expected 
at  every  moment  to  hear  the  shouts  of  the  Rathlee 
gang.  Away  from  the  confined  space  of  her  prison 
and  alone  with  Nat,  she  regained  her  steadiness  of 
nerve,  and  replied  in  the  old  tranquil  tone  when  asked 
if  she  wanted  to  rest.  ''  I  feel  so  strong  that  I 
believe  I  could  Avalk  to  Chico  Springs.  Everything 
that  has  happened  since  this  morning  seems  like  a 
dream  —  a  horrible  nightmare,  out  of  Avhich  you  have 
wakened  me,  Nat.  I  feel  Avonderfully  brave  with 
you." 


202  A    SON    OF    THE   PLAINS. 

She  smiled  into  his  face  in  the  moonlight,  a  smile 
which  ought  to  have  made  him  the  happiest  of  men. 
But  Nat  saw  nothing.  This  lull  in  the  storm  and 
stress  of  the  day  depressed  his  spirits  as  much  as  it 
raised  Maizie's.  It  gave  him  time  to  remember  that 
the  question  he  had  been  tearing  his  heart  out  to 
ask  all  these  weeks  since  the  parting  at  Chico 
Springs  was  answered  ;  the  dumb,  unacknowledged 
hope  which  had  prevented  him  from  leaving  New 
Mexico  until  he  had  seen  her  again  was  extin- 
guished. An  hour  ago  his  heart  would  have  leaped 
with  happiness  to  hear  her  say  this.  Now  —  it  only 
ached. 

Nat  was  not  naturally  obtuse,  but  he  was  very 
ignorant.  That  Maizie,  unknown  to  herself,  could 
by  any  possibility  care  for  him,  wdiile  imagining 
that  he  loved  Bel,  never  occurred  to  his  simple 
mind  and  never  would.  Proud,  diffident,  and  very 
reserved,  nothing  but  the  imminent  danger  of  losing 
his  life  in  the  coming  struggle  with  Rathlee  would 
have  brought  Nat  to  the  point  of  declaring  his  love, 
without  encouragement  which  he  Avould  never  have 
received  from  Maizie  —  and  now  —  he  had  done  with 
it  forever.  She  was  as  dear  to  him  as  before,  for 
his   love   had   no   tinge   of   selfishness   about   it;    but 


WAR   TO    THE    KNIFE.  203 

the  light  of  his  life  had  gone  out,  and  nothing  that 
befell  him  mattered — that  was  all. 

Maizie  received  no  answer  and  wondered  at  the 
grimness  of  Xat's  face.  But  an  explanation  which 
satisfied  her  was  not  long  in  coming.  They  had 
been  walking  briskly  since  leaving  the  light  behind. 
Now  Xat  stopped,  and.  dropping  on  one  knee, 
listened  intently.  ••  We  must  shelter  somewhere," 
he  said  in  a  quiet  tone  ;  '•  they  are  on  the  trail. 
Let  us  see  what  can  be  made  of  this  shanty." 

He  took  her  hand,  and  laid  it  within  his  arm 
with  a  caressing  reassuring  pressure  that  was  very 
comforting.  In  the  pleasiu^e  of  this,  she  almost 
forgot  to  think  of  Sandy  Rathlee. 

A  few  paces  ahead  there  lay  what  liad  once  been  an 
adobe  hut  such  as  Mexicans  build.  It  was  a  poor, 
tumble-down  j)lace,  now  roofless,  Avitli  two  square  gaps 
where  windows  used  to  be.  and  nothinsr  but  an  outer 
wall  standing  seven  feet  high,  and  one  Avithin  half 
destroyed.  But  the  walls  were  as  solid  as  if  built  of 
cast  iron,  and  a  desperate  man,  well  armed,  would  l)e 
an  mipleasant  adversary  to  dislodge  from  the  inner 
room.  Here  Xat  placed  Maizie,  first  lighting  a  match 
and  looking  for  possible  snakes.  Then,  leaAung  Sliep 
on  guard  beside  her,  he  stole  outside  to  listen. 


204  .  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

The  gang  was  on  the  way.  He  could  hear  the 
quick,  irregular  tramp  of  feet,  now  and  then  pausing^ 
as  if  they  were  enquiring  of  people  in  the  street, 
but  moment  by  moment  growing  more  distinct.  He 
listened  for  any  sound  from  Chico  Springs,  but 
there  Avas  none,  nor  could  there  be  for  hours  yet. 
He  returned  to  Maizie. 

"They  are  coming?"  she  asked. 

''Yes." 

''  Are  they  following  our  track  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  They  may  pass  us  then  ?  " 

"  They  may." 

There  was  an  ominous  doubt  in  the  way  Nat 
said  this,  and  Maizie  watched  his  preparations  with 
slowly  sinking  heart.  First  Nat  spoke  to  Shep, 
caressing  his  ears.  "  Keep  quiet,  old  dog,  only  fly 
if  they  lay  a  hand  on  her — guard  her,  guard." 
And  Shep,  understanding  well,  nestled  up  by  Maizie 
and  licked  her  hand. 

Then  his  revolver  was  placed  on  the  low  partition 
wall,  cocked.  His  knife  he  took  in  his  left  hand, 
thoughtfully  presenting  the  blade  to  the  moonlight, 
and  watching  it  glitter  there.  Then  he  placed 
Maizie  in  the  innermost  recess  and   crouched   beside 


^AR    TO    THE   KNIFE.  205 

her.  They  were  hokliug  one  another's  hands  now, 
for  the  tramp  of  the  pursuers  was  drawing  very 
near.  Both  thought  of  the  same  thing  at  the  same 
moment,  and  Maizie  whispered.  "  Your  pistol  is 
in  a  pocket  of  my  dress — I  remembered  what  you 
said."  He  pressed  her  fingers,  then  swiftly  turned 
and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  wall.  Though  the 
rustle  of  feet  on  the  grass  had  l)een  growing  more 
distinct  no  voices  had  been  heard,  1jut  now,  only  a 
fcAv  yards  away,  ]\Iaizie  heard  a  hoarse  whisper  which 
brought  her  heart  to  her  mouth. 

'*  Stop,  Sandy,  —  hold,  I  say.  Who'll  bet  they 
ain't  hidin'  in  the  Sanchez  shanty  ?  The  likeliest 
kind  of  place.     "What  ?  " 

"  You  be  ,"'   retorted  another   voice,  Rathlee's. 

"  They  have  gone  a  mile  past  this." 

''Anyway,  lets  go  through  it  first." 

"  You  may  [with  a  deeper  curse  than  before],  I 
will  not.  The  blasted  place  gives  me  the  shivers. 
Come  away  ;  we  only  waste  time  talking.  Leave 
two  of  the  boys.  Here,  Ike  and  Mick,  stay  here 
while  we  prospect  further  on.  We'll  call  for  you 
on  the  way  back,  no  fear." 

There  was  a  sound  as  of  grumbling,  and  then  the 
tramp  of  feet  died  away,  and  Maizie  breathed  again. 


206  A    SON    OF    THE   PLAINS. 

Something  touched  her  lips  —  Nat's  finger,  and  she 
knew  that  the  hut  was  watched,  and  the  faintest 
whisper  or  movement  might  be  fataL  After  a  time 
the  men  outside  grew  tired  of  keeping  quiet,  and 
began  to  talk. 

''  If  this  ain't  foolishness,"  said  one  in  a  peevish 
tone,  "  call  me  a  Chinaman.  What  do  Sandy  mean  ? 
If  he's  uncertain  whether  the  cuss  is  there,  why  don't 
he  strike  a  light  and  find  out  ?  Where  is  the  sense 
of  leaving  us  laying  round  ?  Nan's  whiskey  must 
have  churned  his  brain  —  such  as  he  ever  had.  If 
I  were  bossing  the  outfit,  I'd  see  daylight  through 
every  bit  of  cover  as  I  went  along.     What  say  ?  " 

"  Say,"  replied  a  deeper  voice,  dry  and  sarcastic, 
"  that  there  never  was  a  man  so  smartly  on  the  spot 
as  Ike  O'Rourke  thinks  himself  to  be.  There's  only 
one  drawback,  he  never  does  anything.  If  you  feel 
mean,  pard,  go  in  yourself.  We'll  wait  patient  as 
monuments  till  you  come  out  again.  For  me,  I'd 
rather  stay  here ;  I  hev  heard  too  much  of  Comanche 
Nat  to  chance  my  carcase  near  him  in  the  dark.  As 
for  Sandy,  every  child  in  Amenta  knows  why  he'll 
hold  back  from  Sanchez  shanty  if  he  can.  You  never 
heard  it  ?  See  then.  Sanchez  Avas  a  greaser  with  a 
few  colts,  and  was  the   best   rider  I  ever  saw  Avith  a 


WAK   TO   THE   KNIFE.  207 

yellow  face.  Sandy  was  rather  partial  to  liim  for  a 
while  ;  but  they  quarrelled  at  Xan's  one  night,  and 
Sandy  shot  him.  Sanchez  left  a  widder  and  a  baby, 
and  what  does  Rathlee  do  but  step  out  about  midnight 
after  taking  entry  drinks,  and  come  down  here  to 
tell  this  widder  what  he'd  done.  GoUs,  Ike  boy, 
never  did  a  man  make  a  worse  mistake.  She  were 
waitin'  for  him,  and  wild  cats  were  not  in  it  when  she 
saw  his  wicked  face.  He  thought  she  would  be 
weepin'  and  might  be  comforted.  She  were  heating 
a  pan  of  scalding  grease,  and  that  was  what  he  got 
full  in  the  mouth.  Wonder  it  didn't  kill  him,  but  she 
aimed  too  low,  and  he  still  had  his  sight  and  his 
knife  and  his  great  strength,  and  the  pain  made  him 
mad.  Soon  afterwards  folk  saw  the  hut  afire,  but 
none  saw  Sandy,  nor  knew  where  he  Avent  ;  and  the 
widder  and  the  baby,  they  were  never  seen  again. 
That's  why  he's  held  clear  of  the  place  to-night,  and 
will  do,  unless  he's  dead  sure  the  girl's  inside.  They 
say  he  hears  that  baby  crying  still,  when  he's  been 
drinking  over  much.  He's  done  many  things,  but 
I  guess  he  never  did  a  worse  night's  work  than 
that.  Yet,  after  all,  it  ain't  your  funeral,  Ikey  boy. 
Now,  come,  light  your  match  like  a  man,  and  tell 
us    what   you   see  inside.     I'll   stand   a   drink   too  if 


208  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

you  air  in  a  fit  condition,  afterward,  to  take  it 
down." 

The  speaker  ended  his  offer  with  a  chuckle.  It 
was  received  with  an  oath. 

"  I'd  sooner  be  toasted  by  Apaches  than  put  a  foot 
in  the  cursed  phice,  if  that's  the  truth.  Sandy  must 
wrastle  with  liis  own  spooks  ;  nary  a  one  will  I  face 
for  him.  I  most  wish  I'd  let  him  go  alone  ;  durned 
if  I  ain't  got  the  creeps,  and  hear  the  baby  whine 
myself.  Killing  meyi  is  right  and  business-like,  Ijut 
babies  —  ugh,  it  makes  me  sick  —  What  say  your- 
self ?  " 

"That's  just  so,  Ike,  and  you'll  find  the  rest  of  the 
boys  agree.  If  the  girl  is  in  here,  as  I  believe,  now, 
she  must  be,  Sandy  will  have  to  run  his  funeral  alone 
until  he  gits  her  out.  Here  he  comes,  cursin'  like 
blue  smoke." 

Sandy  Rathlee  was  in  an  evil  mood.  With  the 
consideration  for  his  feelings  characteristic  of  their 
race,  the  desperadoes  who  surrounded  him  had  not 
failed  to  make  pointed  allusions  to  the  episode  at 
Sanchez  shanty  ever  since  they  left  it  behind,  and  as 
no  trace  of  the  fuo^itives  could  be  found  ahead,  Ratli- 
lee  was  at  last  obliged  to  declare  that  he  would  search 
the   place  without  delay,  if  it  were  only  to  vindicate 


WAR   TO   THE   KNIFE.  209 

his  courage.  He  knew  well  tliat  let  a  doul)t  be  cast 
upon  his  nerve,  and  his  leadership  and  place  among 
his  gang  was  lost. 

"  Hand  round  a  candle,  boys,"  he  said,  pausing  in 
the  doorway  of  the  hut.  But  no  one  had  a  candle. 
They  had  not  even  a  match  among  them  which  they 
could  lend  Sandy  Rathlee. 

"Then  we  must  fire  through  the  place.  Two  of 
you  climb  the  Avails  to  north  and  east,  and  let  fly 
into  the  centre.  Ike,  fire  through  the  windows  here. 
The  rest  stand,  and  be  ready,  if  he  makes  a  bolt." 

There  was  a  pause.  No  one  stirred.  Rathlee  lost 
his  temper,  and  poured  forth  curses  freely  right  and 
left,  and  said  he  would  go  alone. 

Some  one  laughed,  and  a  piping  voice  remarked 
cheerfull}^ :  "  You  are  talking  sense  now.  Boss. 
That's  miles  better  than  to  burn  powder  in  the 
house,  and  p'raps  shoot  the  girl  by  mistake.  There's 
been  enough  of  that  done  here  already.  Go  in 
yourself ;  we'll  take  care  nobody  but  you  comes 
out." 

A  deep  silence  followed  these  words,  and  all  the 
men  stood  expectant,  looking  at  Bathlee.  When  he 
saw  that  there  was  no  Avay  out  of  it,  he  tossed  his 
head  and  laughed  contemptuously. 


210  A    SON    OF    THE   PLAINS. 

"You  are  a  brave  crowd.  Upon  my  word,  if  I  had 
no  more  spunk  than  you  I'd  hang  myself.  I'll  go 
in.  Keep  clear  of  the  doorway,  or  you  might  get 
hurt." 

He  turned  from  them,  but  as  he  reached  the  door 
he  paused  and  started  back  ;  for  a  voice  within  said 
quietly :  "  Another  step  and  you  are  a  dead  man. 
Boys,  will  you  let  me  have  fair  play  ?  " 

If  Nat  had  spoken  with  the  excited  emphasis  of 
a  man  in  desperate  straits,  his  appeal  would  have 
been  laughed  at.  As  it  was,  the  quietness  of  his  tone 
and  the  sudden  withdraAval  of  Rathlee  from  his 
perilous  position,  made  a  great  and  instantaneous 
impression  on  the  men,  and  the  hasty  order  of  their 
leader,  "Pile  in  every  man  after  me,  and  stop  his 
gabble  now,"  came  too  late.  Not  a  man  moved, 
while  Rathlee  himself,  feeling  it  was  certain  death 
to  venture  in  alone,  held  back,  and  waited  to  hear 
his  enemy  speak  again. 

"  My  meaning,  friends,"  Nat  went  on  more  quietly 
than  before,  "  is  this.  Sandy  Rathlee  and  I  were  to 
have  had  a  game  to-night.  I  found  he  was  going  to 
crowd  me  out  if  he  won,  so  I  left  town,  and  took 
the  stakes  away.  You  have  corralled  me.  I  don't 
deny  it ;  but  I   won't  give  her  up  while  I  can  fight. 


WAR    TO   THE   KNIFE.  211 

Yoli  are  all  straight  men.  Let  me  play  Sandy 
Rathlee  no^v,  but  with  knives,  not  cards,  and  let  the 
one  who  lives  carry  off  the  prize.  If  you  say  yes 
to  this,  well  fight  it  out  before  you  all." 

Xat  paused  and  waited  for  the  answer.  It  was  a 
touch  and  go.  While  the  calm  audacity  of  the  pro- 
posal pleased  the  fancy  of  the  men,  they  had  suffi- 
cient deference  towards  Sandy  to  hesitate  before 
forcing  him  to  accept  terms  for  one  who  lay  virtually 
in  liis  power.  The  reply  came  from  Rathlee  him- 
self.    "If  that  suits  the  boys,  it   suits  me." 

A  shout  of  approval  greeted  these  words,  and  amid 
the  cries  of  "  Well  spoke,  Sandy,"  — "  Make  a  ring 
for  them  right  here,"  —  Xat,  stopping  to  kiss  Maizie's 
hand,  stepped  out  into  the  moonlight,  leant  quietly 
against  the  wall  of  the  hut,  and  waited. 


CHAPTER   XIY. 

DEATH-GRIPS. 

The  moon  was  riding  high  now,  the  stars  were  at 
their  brightest.  Nothing  was  wanting  to  favour  the 
combatants  in  their  struggle,  and  to  heighten  the 
enjoyment  of  the  onlookers.  There  was  some  disap- 
pointment expressed  by  the  inexperienced  when  they 
saw  how  slightly  built  and  puny  the  sheep-man  looked 
beside  the  burly  Rathlee,  but  the  older  men  smiled 
at  one  another.  The  weakest  man,  they  knew  well, 
is  formidable  when  he  is  lighting  for  his  life.  No 
one  doubted  that  Rathlee  would  win. 

The  ground  was  chosen,  the  ring  formed.  The 
men  took  off  their  coats  and  rolled  up  their  sleeves, 
and  faced  one  another.  So  intent  Avas  the  crowd  now 
upon  the  coming  fight,  that  Maizie,  unable  to  remain 
in  the  hut,  stole  up  unperceived,  and  with  Shej)  beside 
her,  showing  every  tooth  in  his  head,  looked  on  at 
what  followed. 

212 


DEATH-GRIPS.  213 

Slowly  the  men  circled  round  one  another,  drawing 
close  by  imperceptible  degrees,  their  eyes  fixed  with 
the  intensity  of  tigers  —  nearer  —  nearer  —  nearer, 
—  until  one  should  spring. 

It  was  the  culminating  point  of  Nat's  life.  Again 
and  again  since  he  liad  known  ^Maizie  he  had  bitterly 
regretted  the  Indian  training  which  had  often  kept 
him  silent  when  he  would  have  spoken,  and  made 
him  appear  hard  and  cold  wlien  his  heart  was  full 
of  sympathy.  But  now  he  thanked  God  for  those 
long,  miserable  years.  liathlee  had  the  advantage 
of  superior  strength,  reach,  and  height,  but  Nat 
had  somethinsr  more  valuable  than  all  these. 

Now !  With  a  swift  lunge  of  body,  arm,  and  hand, 
Rathlee  sprang  forward,  his  head  bent,  his  left  arm 
held  low,  the  elbow  outwards  to  guard  any  sud- 
den thrust ;  his  knife  in  his  right  hand,  so  turned 
that,  could  he  get  near  enough,  with  one  powerful 
side  stroke  he  would  drive  it  between  Nat's  ribs,  just 
below  the  heart.  A  savage  yell  rose  from  the  on- 
lookers. Nothing  but  nimbleness,  combined  with 
extreme  quickness  of  eye  and  judgment,  could  save 
Nat ;  but  as  Rathlee  charged,  his  enemy  stepped  back- 
wards, and  shifting  rapidly  to  the  right,  and  avoiding 
the    blow,    stepped    in    almost    at    the    same   moment. 


214  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

inflicting  a  heavy  thrust  in  Rathlee's  arm,  which 
dropped  useless  to  his  side.  The  shouts  of  the  crowd 
died  away;  the  most  contident  now  felt  nervous. 
On  Ratld.ee  himself  the  repulse  acted  like  strong  wine. 
Making  his  helpless  arm  a  shield,  he  bounded  at  Nat 
like  a  wounded  lion.  There  was  no  avoidance  pos- 
sible of  this  attack;  Nat  met  it  squarely,  and  Rath- 
lee's knife  sank  deep  into  his  shoulder.  They  closed, 
and  Nat  struck  two  blows  in  return,  so  swiftly 
that  no  one  saw  where  they  went.  Rathlee  reeled 
and  staggered  like  a  drunken  man,  struck  madly 
at  the  air,  threw  up  his  arms,  and  fell  heavily  back- 
wards.    The  fight  was  done. 

A  long,  whispering  breath  of  surprise  passed 
through  the  crowd  of  men.  The  end  Avas  so 
unexpected  and  came  in  so  sudden  a  way,  that 
for  a  moment  they  stood  agape  at  what  they  saw. 
Then  they  surged  forward  to  examine  the  prostrate 
man. 

Nat  stood  aside,  and,  seeing  Maizie,  went  quickly 
to  her. 

She  clutched  his  arm.     "  Are  you  hurt  ?  " 

"  A  little  ;  but  that  is  nothing.  You  should  not 
have  left  the  hut." 

"  What  will  happen  to  us  now  ?  " 


DEATH-GRIPS.  215 

''If  they  keep  their  word,  we  are  free  to  go." 

But  this  did  not  seem  likely.  With  the  proposal 
of  a  fight  for  their  diversion  before  them,  the  gang 
could  afford  to  be  merciful  and  even  generous,  but 
now  the  tables  had  turned.  Kat  had  barely  time 
to  get  his  revolver  from  the  hut,  when  he  found 
himself  surrounded  by  lowering,  threatening  faces, 
and  heard  whispers  that  proved  his  position  to  be  as 
precarious  as  ever.  He  had  only  one  more  card  to 
play. 

''Friends,"  he  said,  looking  slowly  round,  Maizie 
clincfino-  to  his  arm,  "  our  contract  said  that  the  man 
who  kept  his  feet  should  go.  I  could  claim  that  right 
now,  but  I  will  not.  Come  back  and  drink  with  me 
at  Xan's ;  and  if  there  is  any  man  who  says  the  fight 
was  not  fought  fair,  you  can  judge  what  best  to  do 
with  me." 

The  men  looked  at  each  other  askance,  like  bulls 
who  would  like  to  charge  but  wait  for  each  other  to 
begin.  At  length  the  man  Avith  the  piping  voice 
spoke  out  :  ''  I  reckon  the  offer  is  fair.  Things  will 
look  clearer  presently.  I'll  go  with  you,  Comanche 
Nat,  for  one." 

This  was  enough;  the  rest  agreed  willingly,  and, 
keeping    Xat    well    in    the    centre,    trudged   back   to 


216  A   SOX   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

town.  Behind  tliem,  still  and  lifeless,  lay  all  that 
remained  of  Sandy  Rathlee. 

The  townsfolk  of  Amenta  marvelled  as  they  saw  the 
returning  gang ;  and  when  it  was  whispered  abroad 
that  the  sheep-man  had  slain  the  desperado  in  open 
fight,  so  many  followed  to  Nan's  that  there  was 
hardly  standing-room  at  the  bar.  The  Chinamen 
were  still  there,  serving  drinks.  Nan  was  also  there, 
actively  at  work.  When  she  saw  Nat  and  his  follow- 
ing, and  noted  the  absence  of  Rathlee,  she  took  in 
the  situation  at  a  glance. 

"  Back  soon,  boys !  You've  caught  more  than  you 
sought  for  ?  Sandy  gone  ?  Is  that  so  ?  Well,  give 
your  orders  sharp.  I  close  early  to-night.  You  stand, 
do  ye,  sonny?  That  seems  onnatural  for  a  wounded 
man.  Hi  there,  boys,  make  Avay,  and  let  that  girl 
come  round  to  me.  Crowds  of  your  nature  ain't 
no  place  for  her." 

Nan  Slieehan's  word  was  law  in  her  own  house, — 
at  least  up  to  a  certain  point,  and  in  a  twinkling  she 
had  whisked  ]Maizie  out  of  the  press,  and  placed  her 
in  a  chair  behind  the  bar.  That  was  something 
gained,  and  Nan  smiled  to  herself  as  she  saw  the 
look  of  relief  in  Nat's  face.  But  Nan  s  chief  anxiety 
was  Nat  himself.     Though  composedly  handing  drinks 


DEATH-GRIPS.  217 

alongf   the    counter  to    the  men  with   his  rio-ht  hand, 
he  ne^'er  moved  his  left,  and  Nan  felt  sure  by  the  pale- 
ness of   his   face    that   he   was  severely  Avounded  and 
probal)ly  losing  1)lood.     Yet  she  dared  not  make  any 
sign    of    sympathy    toward    him.      She    knew,    none 
better,  the  temper  of  the  men.     For  the  moment  Nat's 
free-handedness    maintained    a    party    in    his   favour 
strong  enough  to  repress  the  inclination  of   others  to 
revenge    Rathlee's  death  ;    Imt  as  the  liquor   mounted 
to  the  brains  of  his  admirers  there  was  only  too  much 
danofer  that  thev  would  become  as  violent  as  the  rest. 
When  Xan  became    convinced  of   this  she  felt  that 
desperate   measures  must   be   taken.     Through   Rath- 
lee's death  matters  had  become  far  more  critical  than 
she  had  expected  when  she  told  Xat  to  return  to  her, 
and    while     she    admired    the    courage    and    address 
which    had    enabled    him    to    dispose    of    his    enemy, 
and    hold    in    check    the    very    men    who    had    gone 
forth    to    Jielp    in    his    destruction,    she    saw    clearly 
that   not   only  was  his  life    in   innninent    danger,  but 
that   her   influence  could    avail   nothing,  and   that   to 
keep  her  Avord  witli  liim  Avas    only  to  share  his  fate. 
For  an  instant  she  hesitated.     She  Avas  prosperous  in 
Avorldly  goods,  and   life   AA'as   SAveet.     Her    champion- 
ship   of   this   boy  AA'as   sheer   madness.      She   had   but 


218  A    SON    OF    THE    PLAINS. 

to  retire  to  her  2^1'ivate  room,  give  orders  to  her  men 
to  close  the  saloon  Avlien  all  was  over,  and  there 
would  be  no  more  trouble  for  her.  She  looked  at 
the  dark,  threatening  faces  of  the  men,  and  bit  her 
lip  in  indecision.  Then  she  met  Nat's  eyes,  full  of 
unspoken  appeal.  Her  face  became  firm  and  hard. 
She  whispered  to  the  Chinamen,  and  two  shot-guns, 
loaded  with  slugs,  were  taken  from  a  recess  beneath 
the  counter  and  placed  upon  a  chair.  These  weapons 
Nan  carelessly  laid  on  the  counter  as  if  they  had  been 
beer-jugs.  "Another  drink,  son  —  no?  Then  I've 
done  business  for  to-night."  She  raised  her  voice  so 
that  it  should  be  heard  by  all.  "Chang,  git  to  the 
door,  and  open  it  for  the  folk.  Boys,  I'm  closing. 
No  more  drinks  till  to-morrow  morning.  I  will  wish 
you  all  good-night.  Comanche  Nat,  I  want  you  here." 
While  speaking  Nan  slid  back  the  panel  by  which 
she  had  admitted  Maizie ;  Nat  stepped  through  it, 
before  the  men  on  either  side  were  aware  of  his 
intention,  and  drew  the  bolt  behind  him.  He  was 
now  separated  from  the  crowd  by  the  counter 
flanked  with  shelves  piled  with  cigar-boxes,  syphons, 
bottles  of  wine,  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  an  Ameri- 
can saloon.  The  gang  was  balked  of  its  prey  again. 
But  it  was    only   for   the    moment.     A   fierce    cry   of 


DEATH-GRIPS.  219 

remonstrance  came  from  many  lips  and  no  one  moved 
toward  the  door. 

"See  here,  Xan,"  said  one,  —  a  man  with  a  deep 
scar  across  his  face,  the  mark  of  Jeff  Collingwood's 
Avliip  at  Clinter's  Ford,  — ''  this  will  not  do.  You 
may  shut  your  old  saloon,  but  you  don't  interfere 
witli  business.  We'll  trouble  you  to  let  that  man 
come  back  and  liis  o^irl  with  him.  She  belono-s 
to  US  anyway,  and  we  ain't  done  with  him,  not  by 
any  means." 

He  raised  his  voice  at  the  end,  and  was  answered 
by  an  ominous  growl  of  assent  from  those  around 
him. 

Nan  Sheehan  laughed  mockingly.  "Ain't  you, 
Mick?  Then  put  this  in  your  pipe.  Comanche  Xat 
and  all  that  belongs  to  him  are  under  my  protection. 
He  stays  here  until  he  wants  to  go,  and  any  one  wdio 
disagrees  will  have  to  go  through  me." 

She  spoke  slowly,  looking  round  from  face  to  face, 
and  having  spoken  laid  hands  upon  her  gun. 

A  visible  wave  of  astonishment  passed  through  the 
crowd,  and  there  was  a  lull  ;  but  only  for  an  instant. 
Then  the  growl  of  anger  and  menace  rose  again,  and 
more  than  one  voice  shouted,  "Take  her  at  her 
word  I  "  —  while  right  and   left  revolvers  sprang  out 


220  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

of  slieatli,  and  Nat,  whose  eyes  were  everywhere,  saw 
a  man  take  deliberate  aim  at  Nan.  A  double  report 
rang  out,  the  man's  arm  was  broken  below  the  elbow 
and  his  shot  flew  wide.     Nan  looked  round  with  a  smile. 

"You  saved  me,  lad." 

She  had  not  time  to  say  more  before  a  dozen  shots 
rattled  round  the  bar,  and  there  Avas  a  mighty  crash 
of  broken  glass  ;  but  the  aim  had  been  too  hasty, 
and  no  one  was  hurt. 

Nan's  blood  was  up  at  last.  "Cowards,"  she 
shrieked,  "  take  that  !  "  —  and  bringing  her  shot-gun 
to  her  shoulder,  fired  both  barrels  at  the  men  near- 
est at  hand.  A  frightful  yell  of  pain,  and  then  a 
storm  of  bullets  in  reply.  The  room  filled  with 
smoke.  Nat,  crouching  behind  a  whiskey  barrel,  saw 
that  Nan  was  struck.  She  had  made  no  attempt  to 
protect  herself,  and  now  reeled  heavily  against  him. 
Yet,  blind  and  bleeding  as  she  was,  she  caught  up 
the  second  gun,  and  fired  with  such  fearful  effect 
into  the  men  now  leaping  upon  the  comiter  Avith 
their  knives,  that  for  the  moment  it  was  swept  clear 
and  no  one  dared  to  take  the  place  of  those  who 
fell. 

And  now  a  new  sound  was  in  the  air.  The  crash 
of   window  glass,  the    roar    of   strange    voices   in    the 


DEATH-GRIPS.  221 

street  outside,  and  from  the  door  and  from  the  win- 
dows came  a  sudden  bhize  of  rifle  shots.  The  Rath- 
lee  gang  turned,  thunderstruck,  to  find  themselves 
surrounded.  For  a  moment  or  two  they  fought  stub- 
bornly, then,  as  the  enemy  burst  into  the  saloon,  fled 
right  and  left,  and  held  up  hands  for  quarter. 

'^  Hold,  boys,"  said  a  stern  voice, — it  was  Ezekiel 
INlixer's,  —  "  give  them  one  chance.  They  have  two 
prisoners  —  are  these  still  alive  ?  " 

The  firing  ceased.  The  smoke  cleared  off,  and  the 
men  held  their  breath.  Tlien  from  the  ruined  counter 
came  two  figures,  followed  by  a  dog,  and  such  a 
shout  of  joy  Avent  up  as  never  had  been  heard  in 
Nan's  saloon  before.  Some  one  ran  forward  with 
outstretched  arms. 

"My  little  gell  — unhurt?  Thank  God  I "  And 
from  far  and  near  many  a  voice  echoed  these  words, 
—  "  Thank  God  I  " 


CHAPTER  XV. 


JVnXER  S    MEN. 


Nan  Sheehan  was  not  dead,  nor  Avas  she  likely 
to  die,  if  the  bleeding  from  a  deep  wound  in  her  right 
side  could  be  stopped  in  time.  Moreover,  she  Avas  so 
far  conscious  that  when  they  lifted  her  from  where 
she  had  fallen  she  spoke  out  cheerily,  though  in  a 
faint  voice. 

"  You've  timed  it,  boys.  Well  done  !  Is  that 
sonny  on  his  feet  ?  Then  I  don't  care  —  What  ? 
a  doctor  ?  You'll  find  one,  if  he's  alive,  in  this  sa- 
loon —  Ned  Washington.  But  sonny  first  —  he  Avere 
Avounded  long  ago." 

Luckily  enough.  Doctor  Ned  Washington  was  not 
only  still  in  this  Avorld,  though  he  had  had  a  nar- 
row escape,  but  proved  equal  to  the  occasion.  As 
great  a  scamp  as  could  be  found  in  the  county,  or 
even  in  Amenta  itself,   he  Avas   a   clcA^er  practitioner, 

and   under   the    delicate    circumstances    under   which 

222 


mixer's  men.  223 

he  was  placed,  became  anxious  to  do  his  best  for 
his  patients.  By  his  orders  Nan  was  carried  to  the 
private  bar  Avhere  Xat  had  eaten  his  supper,  and  in 
a  very  few  minutes  her  wounds  were  properly  band- 
aged; Nat's  shoulder  was  bound  up,  and  the  doctor 
pronounced  them  both  to  be  doing  well. 

It  was  more  difficult  to  persuade  him  to  dress  the 
wounds  of  the  crippled  members  of  the  Rathlee 
gang,  but  a  stern  warning  from  INIixer  as  to  his  own 
fate  if  one  Avounded  man  Avas  found  neglected  next 
morning,  conquered  his  disinclination  to  Avork  for 
nothino',  and  he  did  his  duty  aa'cII. 

MeauAA-hile,  outside  the  saloon,  Amenta  was  in  a 
state  of  excitement  and  confusion  impossible  to  de- 
scribe. Who  and  AA'hat  Avere  these  men  aa'Iio  had 
taken  the  saloon  by  storm  and  crushed  the  Rathlee 
gang  ?  From  mouth  to  mouth  the  news  Avas  AA'his- 
pered  that  they  came  not  only  to  saA'e  the  sheep- 
man's daughter,  but  to  take  the  toAA'u. 

The  ncAA's  Avas  true.  For  tAVO  years  the  citizens  of 
Amenta  had  been  alloAved  to  cheat,  oppress,  and 
plunder  all  those  who  had  no  friends,  and  had  made 
the  town  a  by-word  for  corruption  and  crime.  They 
Avould  do  so  no  more.  The  Anglo-Saxon  race  is  long- 
suffering,  especially  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic, 


224  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

but  even  Americans  will  turn  at  last  —  and  when 
they  turn,  God  help  their  enemies  ! 

Mixer's  men  —  as  the  Chico  Springs  army  was 
afterwards  called  —  were  but  fifty  strong,  while 
Amenta  could  put  three  times  as  many  in  the  field  ; 
and  further,  the  former  were  weary  with  their  ride 
of  forty  miles,  and  fought  in  a  strange  country,  while 
the  Amenta  men  defended  their  own  hearthstones. 
Well  might  Mixer  say  to  Jeff  that  morning,  when 
the  young  man  arrived  from  the  ruined  ranche  with 
his  blood  aflame  :  — 

"  Do  not  talk  so  much  —  keep  your  wind  and 
strength  for  to-night.  We  go  for  rats  in  their  holes, 
boy,  and  rats  die  fighting. ^^ 

But  with  all  these  advantages  Amenta  was  in  des- 
perate straits.  The  only  places  in  town  that  could 
stand  siege  were  Nan's  and  the  house  of  the  treasurer 
of  the  race-course,  and,  thanks  to  Mixer's  knowledge 
of  the  city,  and  the  suddenness  of  his  attack,  the  first 
was  taken  without  the  loss  of  a  man.  It  is,  however, 
a  doubtful  advantage  to  win  the  first  skirmish  in  a 
campaign  too  easily.  While  Mixer  and  Jeff  and  other 
friends  gathered  round  Nat  and  Maizie  and  Nan,  the 
younger  men,  hot  and  thirsty,  laid  eager  hands  uj^on 
whatever  liquor  had  survived  the  fray  at  the  bar,  and 


mixer's  men.  225 

in  a  very  short  space  of  time  would  have  been  past 
praying  for.  Luckily  Mixer  saw  the  danger,  and  was 
among  the  wine-bibbers  in  two  strides. 

"By  the  holy  Moses,  boys,  you  are  the  hardest 
crowd  of  heroes  ever  seen  in  life.  Listen.  In  five 
minutes  the  rowdies  of  this  town  will  be  coming 
through  those  windoAvs.  Is  this  the  way  you  pro- 
pose to  meet  the  racket  ?  I  ask  you  the  question 
—  is  it?" 

DoAvn  Avent  the  glasses  with  a  general  laugh. 

"We're  done,  Boss.     Take  us  to  'em,  quick. 

A  man  now  ran  in  from  the  street. 

"  We'll  1)6  blocked.  Captain.  They  are  creeping 
round  us  —  a  crowd  double  ours,  and  tough  as  you 
ever  see." 

Mixer  gave  one  of  his  dry  chuckles. 

"  Did  you  look  for  them  to  be  tender  ?  Noav  to 
work,  boys  —  ])riskly. " 

The  order  did  not  come  a  moment  too  soon  ;  and 
if  the  Amenta  men  had  been  led  by  another  Ezekiel 
^lixer.  Nan's  saloon  would  have  been  the  scene  of  the 
most  sanguinary  conflict  of  the  night.  But  though 
the  enemy  was  formidable  in  point  of  numbers  and 
determination,  the}^  Avere  Avithout  a  leader,  and  their 
moA^ements    Avere    dilatory.      By   the    time    they  had 

Q 


226  A    SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

definitely  planned  their  mode  of  attack,  Mixer  had 
secured  his  prisoners  in  an  upper  room,  brought 
down  mattresses  and  blockaded  the  parlour  where 
Nan  lay  under  Maizie's  care  with  Dan  Shelf  or  d, 
whose  nerves  were  still  too  much  shattered  for  him 
to  be  of  any  service  in  the  fight.  Then,  with  Nat's 
assistance.  Mixer  formed  an  original  plan  of  defence 
calculated  to  surprise  the  Amenta  men. 

When  the  attacking  party  came  within  pistol-shot, 
they  prepared  to  receive  a  volley.  None  came.  The 
saloon  looked  deserted.  A  Avind  had  risen  as  the 
moon  went  down,  and  now  moaned  with  a  dreary 
sound  through  the  broken  windows.  Every  light 
had  been  quenched,  and  a  silence,  strange  and  weird, 
had  fallen  over  the  place  as  if  it  were  under  a  spell. 

In  the  street  all  was  dark,  too.  The  stores  were 
shut,  bolted,  and  barred,  and  their  owners  watched 
with  anxious  eyes  the  movements  of  their  friends 
around  the  saloon.  Some  still  cherished  a  hope  that 
the  strangers  were  merely  sheep-men  come  to  rescue 
the  girl  and  kill  Rathlee.  But  the  rest  knew  that 
the  great  feud  was  dead,  and  that  this  was  a 
rising  of  settlers  of  all  classes  against  an  intolerable 
wrong. 

The  Amenta  men  advanced  cautiously,  but  no  sign 


MIXEP/S    MEN.  227 

of  life  appeared  in  tlie  saloon.  At  last  one  among 
them  waved  his  hat.  It  was  the  man  with  the  scar 
on  his  face  who  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  escape 
the  attack  by  ^vlixer's  men. 

''  Boys,""  he  shouted,  ^*  will  you  skulk  here  all  night  ? 
Charge  in,  and  whip  the  devils  to  Kingdom  Come. 
Forward,  every  man  I  " 

His  words  were  as  the  spark  to  a  powder  magazine. 
A  yell  and  a  cheer,  and  the  men  rushed  on  with  an 
impetus  that  seemed  likely  to  carry  everything  before 
it.  Still  there  was  no  sign  of  life  in  tlie  saloon.  As  a 
consequence  a  considerable  number  of  men  rushed  at 
the  door — so  many  that  they  impeded  one  another's 
progress,  while  comparatively  few  attacked  the  win- 
dows. 

On  they  came  pell-mell,  and  the  foremost  were  about 
to  give  the  door  a  mighty  kick,  when  it  opened  before 
them  to  its  widest,  and  they  saw  what  made  their 
hearts  stand  still.  Two  paces  from  the  door  crouched 
a  line  of  ten  men,  behind  them  another  line,  kneehng, 
and  behind  them  again  ten  more  standing.  As  the 
door  opened  a  voice  cried  *•  Fire  ! "  and  thirty  rifles 
poured  a  volley  forth,  which  swept  down  the  xVmenta 
men  as  a  scythe  mows  grass,  while  from  the  ^\'in- 
dows   and   from   the  roof   flew  another   hail-storm  of 


228  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

bullets  striking  clown  besiegers  on  all  sides.  They 
scattered  like  sheep,  and  those  who  could  do  so  fled 
for  their  lives.  Again  Zeke  spoke,  his  voice  clear 
and  distinct  above  all  other  sound. 

"Sally  out,  boys,  give  them  no  time  to  breathe. 
Those   on  the  roof   lay  still  —  the  rest  on  with  me." 

With  a  thunderous  cheer  the  Mixer  men  obeyed,  and 
dashed  down  the  street  in  hot  pursuit.  The  enemy 
made  no  stand  anywhere,  but  bolted  hither  and 
thither  like  rabbits,  those  who  were  quick  enough 
taking  refuge  in  the  houses  round  about  until  the 
street  Avas  clear. 

And  now  what  next? 

The  thoroughfare  was  won.  The  enemy  were  sep- 
arated so  effectually  one  from  another,  that  any  rally 
on  their  part  in  sufficient  nambers  to  overthrow  the 
Mixer  men  was  almost  out  of  the  question,  but  they 
were  under  cover,  and  began  to  gall  their  foes  Avith  a 
fire  which  could  only  be  stopped  in  one  way. 

"Lie  down,  every  one  —  lie  clown." 

Mixer  was  obeyed,  and  the  firing  stopped.  It  was 
too  dark  to  mark  the  figures  on  the  ground.  There 
was  a  pause.  The  boys  became  impatient  and  called 
Mixer  uncomplimentary  names.  But  confidence  in 
his   resources   kept  them   moderately  quiet,  and  in  a 


mixer's  men.  229 

few  minutes  they  found  their  faith  well  justified. 
He  had  spoken  to  three  men,  who  flew  down  the  street 
to  the  saloon  and  returned  with  something  in  their 
arms.  Guided  by  Mixer,  they  went  to  the  nearest 
house  at  a  point  where  they  could  not  be  seen  by  the 
inhabitants.  Then  came  the  scrape  of  a  match,  a  flash 
and  flare  of  light,  and  the  mystery  was  solved.  The 
men  had  brought  torches  which  had  been  lying  ready 
for  emergencies  for  weeks  at  Mixer's  store.  A  steady 
wind  was  blowing  ;  the  dry  wood  of  the  frame  shanty 
caught  fire  in  a  moment,  and  the  flames  darted  up  its 
walls  with  a  devouring   roar. 

"  Cover  doors  and  windows  I "  was  the  cry,  and  when 
the  people  in  the  house,  half  suffocated  with  smoke, 
came  tumbling  out  coughing  and  choking,  they  found 
themselves  surrounded. 

"  Down  arms  and  surrender  !  " 

And  under  the  muzzles  of  the  rifles  the  citizens 
obeyed.  They  were  marched  off  under  guard,  both 
men  and  women  —  for  there  were  many  women  in  the 
town  —  and  lodged  at  Nan's. 

The  next  house  was  approached  in  the  same  way, 
with  the  difference  that  those  witldn  were  called  upon 
to  surrender  before  the  torches  were  applied.  They 
refused,   the   place  was   fired  and  stormed,    and,  with 


230  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

some   loss,   burned    down,    its    occupants    driven   out, 
fighting  still,  to  die. 

The  sight  of  the  burning  houses  struck  despair 
into  the  hearts  of  the  citizens  of  Amenta.  Some  were 
for  laying  down  their  arms ;  but  tlie  majority,  who 
—  such  were  their  past  lives  —  knew  that  they  fought 
with  halters  round  their  necks,  preferred  shooting  or 
even  burning  to  hanging,  and  fought  with  such  fury 
that  some  of  Mixer's  principal  allies  began  to  waver. 

"Why  go  on?"  they  asked.  ''The  gang  is  split; 
the  worst  rowdies  are  all  dead,  we  have  done  justice, 
to  do  more  would  be  cruelty." 

Mixer  listened  to  these  arguments  without  saying 
a  word,  though  there  were  deep  murmurs  from  the 
younger  men.  It  was  a  strange  situation.  Those 
who  counselled  peace  were  ranchemen,  whose  daily 
business  was  often  carried  on  in  the  face  of  great 
risk  to  life  and  limb  ;  Avho  had  fought  Indians  —  the 
bloodiest  of  all  human  foes  —  and  would  again,  while 
Mixer,  whose  set  lips  and  flashing  eyes  showed 
plainly  the  feelings  Avith  Avliich  he  listened  to  their 
words,  was  a  mere  trader  who  had  not  struck  a  blow 
or  seen  blood  spilt  for  ten  years  past. 

In  reply  to  the  waverers  he  said  with  the  quiet- 
ness and  deliberation  habitual  to  him  :  — 


mixer's  mex.  231 

"My    partners,    you    speak    fair.      We    are    made 
different,    that  is   all.     I  left   my  wife  and  cliildren. 
I    rode   forty  miles    for    ^yliat  ?     To   save    a   girl    and 
shoot  Rathlee  ?     Xo.     I  say  no.     That  had  to  he  done 
and   done   first.     But   that   ^Yas   for   the   young   men, 
and  well  they    did  it.     I   came   for   something   more. 
The    country   you   and   me   have    lived    in    has    been 
disgraced,    and    nigh    cut    to    pieces    by    these    men. 
We  have  to  see  that  this  shall  never  be  again.     You 
say,  '  Let   the    place   be    left   to  repent   its   ways.'     I 
say,    'Finish   what    you   have   begun.     Take    all    and 
try   them   justly  before    honest  men.'     That    is   what 
I'm  here   for.     Stay   by  me    or   leave   me,  which  you 
think   is    right.     My  body    don't    leave    Amenta   till 
Amenta's    ours.      Those    who    feel    this    way    vamos 
now." 

He  caught  up  a  torch,  and  striding  to  the 
nearest  house,  planted  it  under  the  eaves  on  the 
windward  side.  With  a  mighty  shout  his  men  fol- 
lowed, not  one  holding  back,  and  now  the  citizens 
of  Amenta  felt  the  end  was  near. 

House  after  house  was  fired,  stormed,  and  taken, 
until  half  the  town  was  in  flames.  The  strain  upon 
the  attacking  party  began  to  tell,  and  Mixer  sent 
to    Nan's    for    reinforcements.       One    of    those    who 


232  A   SON    OF   THE    PLAINS. 

went  was  Nat,  now  completely  exliaustecl.  He  man- 
aged to  reach  the  saloon,  give  a  message  to  Jeff, 
and  then  fainted  —  for  the  first  time  in  his  life. 

A  few  minutes  later  those  Avho  had  stayed  behind 
to  garrison  Nan's  took  the  place  of  their  tired  com- 
rades, and  Mixer,  with  Jeff  at  his  right  hand,  found 
himself  stronger  than  ever. 

A  new  feature  in  the  struggle  now  began.  One 
after  another  of  the  houses  Avere  found  to  be  empty. 
At  first  it  was  thought  that  in  spite  of  the  vigilance 
of  scouts  whom  Mixer  had  placed  to  prevent  escape, 
the  people  were  leaving  the  town ;  but  presently  it 
Avas  discovered  that  every  man  who  could,  had  made 
his  Avay  to  the  house  of  the  treasurer  of  the  race- 
course. Like  Nan's,  this  building  had  two  stories, 
but  unlike  the  saloon,  the  upper  story  was  of  wood. 
All  that  could  be  done,  however,  to  make  it  formid- 
able had  been  done.  Every  Avindow  and  aperture 
Avas  guarded  by  men  Avith  rifles,  and  a  constant  drop- 
ping fire  AA^as  poured  upon  the  besiegers  Avhen  any 
came  Avithin  range.  It  was  here  that  the  last  stand 
Avas  to  be  made,   and  it  Av^ould  be    an  obstinate  one. 

To  make  matters  Avorse,  AAdien  Mixer's  men  began 
to  iuA^est  the  place,  and,  crouching  low  in  the  shadow, 
Avaited  for  the   signal  to  attack,   they  heard  the  sob- 


mixer's  men.  233 

bing  of  women  mingled  Avith  the  wail  of  little  chil- 
dren. Earnestly  did  ^lixer  call  upon  those  within 
to  surrender,  warning  them  that  no  escape  was  pos- 
sible. The  answer  was  a  volley  of  oaths,  mingled 
with  abuse  of  the  worst  kind  in  a  woman's  voice, 
showing  too  clearlv  the  character  of  the  inmates. 
Xo  alternative  remained,  therefore,  and  IMixer  gave 
the  word. 

"  Set  to,  boys.  Look  careful  to  the  babies  and 
women.     Xo  fire  tliis  time." 

A  volley,  a  counter-volley  from  the  house,  a  rush 
at  the  door,  and  a  sudden  falling  back.  The  door 
had  holes  bored  through  it,  from  which  came  the 
bullets  of  revolvers  and  the  points  of  knives.  The 
windows,  also,  were  so  well  guarded  that  no  impres- 
sion could  be  made  there. 

"Steady,"  was  Mixer's  order.  "Hold  quiet  while 
we  try  a  surer  way." 

The  attack  ceased,  upon  Avhich  came  jeering  laughter 
from  within,  and  the  blood  of  Mixer's  men  boiled  over. 
It  Avas  the  first  check,  and  they  Avere  in  no  mood  to 
brook  such  opposition.  One  of  them,  A\dth  an  oath, 
seized  a  lighted  torch,  and  deliberately  flung  it  on 
the  roof.  In  another  moment  his  example  would 
have  been  folloAved  bv  a  dozen  others,  and  the  house 


23-4  A   SOX    OF    THE   PLAINS. 

be  afire  in  as  many  places.  But  Mixer  brought  his 
rifle  to  the  shoulder,  there  was  a  sharp  report,  and 
the  man  fell  dead. 

"I  did  that,"  Zeke  said,  looking  round,  "and  if 
any  one  else  calling  himself  a  man  puts  his  hand  to 
burn  out  children,  I  will  do  it  again." 

No  answer  was  given  to  this  challenge,  but  those 
who  had  caught  up  torches  dropped  them  one  by 
one  as  if  they  burnt  their  hands. 

And  now  arrived  what  Mixer  had  sent  for  as  soon 
as  he  saw  that  the  house  was  going  to  stand  a  siege. 
It  was  a  huge  vega,  or  beam,  which  had  been  left 
in  a  wagon  near  Nan's.  Some  of  the  boys  hauled 
the  wagon  to  the  place  of  action,  and  a  score 
of  hands  seized  upon  the  beam,  dragged  it  out,  and 
with  a  run  and  a  cheer  brought  it  with  tremendous 
force  against  the  door.  Bolts,  locks,  and  bars  availed 
nothing  now  ;  with  a  heavy  crash  the  door  was  carried 
off  its  hinges  and  laid  flat  in  the  hall,  with  two  Amenta 
men  under  it,  and  half  a  dozen  besiegers  sprawling  on 
top.  A  yell,  and  a  rush  of  Mixer  men.  An  answering 
shout  and  a  volley  from  within,  then  the  angry  sound 
of  smothered  shots,  and  blows,  groans,  and  curses, 
as  the  attack  and  defence,  each  as   stubborn   as   the 


mixer's  mex.  235 

other,  surged  through  the  hall,  and  up  the  stairs, 
and  on  from  room  to  room.  To  add  to  the  confu- 
sion and  horror  of  it  all  the  lights  had  been  put 
out,   and  the  men  fought  in  darkness. 

In  the  front  and  fiercest  heat  of  the  fray  was 
Mixer  himself,  and  furious  were  the  attacks  made 
upon  him  A\'hen,  by  his  voice,  as  he  encouraged  his 
men,  his  Avhereabouts  was  known.  But  he  seemed 
to  bear  a  charmed  life  —  in  point  of  fact  he  was 
protected  by  a  guardian  angel  in  the  shape  of  Jeff 
CoUingwood.  Jeff  had  grown  to  feel  the  strongest 
regard  for  Zeke  Mixer.  Though  they  had  only 
known  one  another  a  few  weeks,  the  nature  of  the 
storekeeper  had  impressed  the  younger  man  with 
extraordinary  force,  and  where  Mixer  led,  Jeff  would 
have  followed,  had  it  been  into  the  pit  of  Tophet. 
Go  where  Mixer  might,  Jeff  was  close  at  hand,  with 
eyes  that  seemed  to  see  in  the  dark  as  well  as  if  it 
were  day,  Avitli  steady  nerves,  and  Avitli  the  strength 
and  activity  of  two  men.  Step  by  stej)  and  inch  by 
inch  the  Amenta  men  Avere  driven  back.  The  hall 
was  free,  the  stairs  were  free,  and  one  after  another 
of  the  rooms  were  taken.  At  last  one  only  at  the 
top  of  the  house  was  left.  The  women  and  cliildren 
were  huddled  here  with  half  a  dozen  of  the  Avounded, 


236  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

and  a  few  fighters,  tlieir  eyes  blood-sliot,  tlieir  limbs 
trembling  with  fatigue,  but  fierce  to  the  last,  and 
ready  to  make  a  sacrifice  of  the  helpless  ones,  if,  by 
so  doing,  they  could  kill  a  few  more  enemies  before 
their  own  turn  came.  There  was  some  light  in  this 
room,  for  the  day  was  dawning,  and  in  the  roof  was 
a  large  window  with  an  eastern  view. 

Mixer  entered  the  room  first,  and,  ordering  his 
men  to  stand,  called  upon  all  to  surrender.  His  only 
answer  was  a  savage  oath,  while  the  women  and 
children  looked  on  helplessly.  Before  the  struggle 
began,  however,  a  sudden,  sharp  cry  rang  out,  "  Fire  ! 
Fire  !  "  followed  by  an  ominous  glare  from  beneath 
the  window,  and  a  gush  of  smoke. 

A  universal  shriek  rose  from  the  women.  All  re- 
sistance was  at  an  end.  The  men,  even  the  wounded 
ones,  dashed  through  the  window,  and  rolled  or  sprang 
off  the  roof,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  w^omen  would 
follow  their  example  in  sheer  blind  terror.  But 
Mixer's  men,  thanks  to  Zeke  and  Jeff,  did  not  lose 
their  heads.  In  less  than  five  minutes  a  passage 
was  cleared  down  the  stairway,  and  through  the 
blinding  smoke  man  after  man  rushed  at  desperate 
speed,  each  bearing  a  child  or  a  woman  according  to 
his   strength.       In   the    room   itself,    with   the    smoke 


mixer's  men.  237 

curlino-  throuo-li  the  boards  beneath  and  the  atmos- 
phere  becoming  hotter  every  moment,  Jeff  and  ^Nlixer 
kefit  the  rest  still.  A  crash  below  —  the  staircase 
had  given  way.     The  crisis  was  now  terrible. 

"  On  the  roof,  boy,'"  Mixer  gasped  hoarsely  to  Jeff ; 
"fresh  air  is  the  only  chance." 

One  woman  was  already  insensible,  and  how  Jeff 
managed  to  lift  her  through  the  skylight  to  ^lixer 
he  never  kncAv,  but  he  did  it ;  the  rest,  with  his  help, 
clambered  up,  and  then  they  saw  the  full  extent 
of  their  peril.  The  house  was  burning  fiercely,  and 
in  a  fcAv  minutes  the  roof  must  fall  in  with  a  crash. 
Fortunately  the  wind  had  changed,  and  on  the  side 
where  they  were  clinging  there  was  little  smoke.  By 
this  time  the  boys  were  all  aware  that  their  leader 
was  in  danger  and  were  crowded  around  the  spot, 
some  holding  out  a  blanket.  Into  this  the  children 
were  dropped  safely,  then  the  women.  There  was 
now  but  one  more  moment  before  the  roof  would 
go. 

"  Jeff,  lad  —  jump  !  "  cried  Mixer,  holding  back. 

Jeff  said  nothing,  but  putting  a  strong  arm  round 
Zeke.  with  a  sudden  jerk  sent  him  flying,  against  his 
will,  into  the  Ijlanket.  Another  crash — the  roof  was 
falling  —  a    cry    from   the    crowd    as    Jeff   nearly  lost 


238  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

his  balance,  then  a  ringing  cheer  which  was  repeated 
again  and  again,  when,  black  as  coal,  with  hardly 
a  hair  left  on  his  head,  he  leapt  clear  and  alighted 
on  his  feet  among  his  friends,  unhurt. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 
maizie's  explaxatiox. 

The  fighting  was  over,  Amenta  was  won,  and 
Mixer's  boys  from  being*  destroyers  of  life  became 
ambulance  men,  nurses  of  the  sick,  and  even  cooks 
and  maids-of-all-work. 

The  Western  man,  like  the  sailor,  can  turn  his  hand 
to  anything,  and  when  the  sun  rose  every  soul  who 
had  the  use  of  his  arms  and  legs,  excejot  the  few 
told  off  to  guard  the  prisoners,  was  hard  at  work. 

The  busiest  of  all  —  planning,  ordering,  doing  all 
at  once  —  was  Zeke  himself.  His  right  arm  was  in  a 
sling  and  his  head  was  bound  up  to  cover  a  fearful 
gash  over  his  left  eye,  but  he  made  nothing  of 
his  hurts  and  for  two  hours  after  his  narrow  escape 
from  the  Ijurning  house,  laboured  untiringly  to  evoke 
order  out  of  chaos.  At  last  he  retired  to  eat  some 
breakfast  in  Xan's  parlour.  Xan  was  here,  sitting 
up,  hardly  less   busy    in    her   way   than    Mixer.      She 

239 


240  A    SON   OF   THE    PLAINS. 

was  not  allowed  to  move,  but  from  her  coucli  made 
shrewd  and  practical  suggestions,  gave  information 
as  to  the  whereabouts  of  stores  of  provisions  and 
linen,  and  placed  at  Zeke's  disposal  everything  she 
possessed. 

By  evening  only  the  smoking  ruins  of  the  burnt 
houses  still  gave  evidence  to  the  eye  of  what  had 
happened  in  the  preceding  twenty-four  hours.  The 
dead  were  underground,  the  wounded  in  hospital  ; 
and  even  the  prisoners,  having  been  supplied  with 
food  and  drink  and  allowed  as  much  liberty  as  the 
circumstances  of  the  case  admitted,  were  in  better 
spirits,  and  talked  cheerfully  of  suing  Mixer  for 
damages   and   false   imprisonment. 

The  following  day  the  principal  ranchemen  of  the 
surrounding  country  rode  in  to  congratulate  Mixer, 
and  to  take  part  in  the  trial  of  the  prisoners.  A  jury 
of  twelve  of  these  was  formed  and  sworn  in.  Mixer, 
by  unanimous  consent,  was  selected  judge,  and  within 
three  days  every  Amenta  citizen,  including  Nan  her- 
self, had  been  brought  to  trial. 

The  prisoners  were  heard  in  their  own  defence, 
questioned  by  the  jury,  cross-questioned  by  the  judge, 
and  then  summarily  dealt  with  in  one  of  three  ways. 
Those   against  whom   murder  was   proved  were   sen- 


3IAizie's  explanation.  241 

tenced  to  death.  Those  who  were  known  to  have 
robbed,  or  in  other  ways  maltreated  their  neighbours, 
were  heavily  lined  in  amonnts  according  to  their 
means.  Those  against  whom  nothing  definite  was 
proved,  but  of  whom  much  was  suspected,  were 
ordered  to  leave  the  toAvn  Avith  all  their  belongings 
in  twenty-fuur  hours. 

The  most  difficult  case  to  deal  with  was  Xan's= 
After  long  deliberation  the  judge  and  jury  were 
inclined  trt  make  the  punishment  merely  nominal,  in 
consideration  of  the  protection  she  had  afforded  Maizie 
and  Xat,  her  personal  injuries,  and  the  wreck  of  her 
saloon,  which  by  the  time  all  was  over  had  been 
stripped  of  its  stock  and  a  great  deal  of  its  furniture. 
But  the  prisoner,  to  the  astonishment  of  her  judges, 
refused  to  be  let  off. 

"  'Tain't  fair,"  she  said  when  informed  of  the  decis- 
ion. •'  I  haA-e  not  robbed,  neither  have  I  killed.  But 
I've  helped  the  worst.  I  have  Avinked  at  Avhat  I 
mio-ht  have  staved.  The  bovs  of  Amenta  kep"  me, 
good  and  bad  alike.  Put  my  name  doAA^n  and  take 
82000  and  Avliat  is  left  here  and  tell  me  to  quit  the 
toAA-n.""  This  Avas  done  and  early  on  the  morning 
following  her  trial  Xan  set  forth  upon  a  journey. 

She  went  to   Chico  Springs.     Nat  and  Jeff,  ]\Iaizie 


242  A    SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

and  her  father,  were  going  that  day,  and  Maizie, 
finding  that  the  sick  woman's  one  desire  was  not 
to  lose  sight  of  Nat,  proposed  that  she  shoukl  go  with 
them.  A  light  spring  wagon  was  chartered,  and  fitted 
with  cushions  and  pillows,  and  with  Dan  driving, 
Maizie  in  charge  of  Nan,  and  Nat  and  Jeff  riding,  they 
set  off,  no  one  knowing  but  Nan  herself  that  the 
doctor  had  expressed  it  as  his  deliberate  opinion  that  a 
journey  so  soon  would  cause  inflammation  of  her 
wound  and  probably  death. 

Nan  had  her  reasons  for  defying  the  doctor.  She 
was  anxious  about  Nat.  Her  eyes  were  sharp,  and  her 
perceptions,  keen  at  all  times,  were  quickened  by  the 
love  she  bore  him.  His  reserve,  and  the  stoicism  of 
his  quiet  manner,  though  proof  against  all  other  eyes, 
did  not  deceive  her  for  an  instant.  While  his  friends 
found  in  his  wound  and  the  physical  strain  he  had 
undergone  sufficient  explanation  for  his  haggard  looks, 
and  a  settled  despondency  and  silence  which  had 
marked  him  since  the  night  in  the  saloon.  Nan  saw 
something  more.  Something  which  robbed  her  of 
sleep  at  night  far  more  than  the  pain  of  her  wound  — 
something  that  filled  her  with  a  feeling  almost  amount- 
ing to  dismay.  She  saw  that  life  was  worthless  to 
him  —  because    the    girl    he   had    so    nearly    died   for 


maizie's  explanation.  243 

only  gave  in  return  for  all  his  love  the  affection 
of  a  friend.  All  this  Xan  saw  clearl}'  enough, 
and  to  see  it  was  sufficient  to  make  her  determine  to 
help  him.  But  how?  She  was  sure  that  Xat  had 
spoken  and  been  refused.  He  avoided  being  alone 
with  Maizie.  He  rarely  looked  at  her,  or  spoke  to  her. 
Moreover,  it  Avas  plain  that  Maizie  noticed  this  and 
was  pained  and  puzzled.  Yet,  closely  as  Nan  watched 
the  girl's  face,  she  never  once  saw  anything  to  give 
her  ground  for  belief  that  Xat  was  making  a  mistake. 
And  Xan  was  afraid  of  Maizie. 

The  journey  was  a  long  and  tiresome  one.  It  was 
very  hot,  and  there  Avas  no  shade  for  Xan  but  the 
wagon  tilt.  This,  added  to  her  anxiety  of  mind, 
brought  on  inflammation,  prophesied  by  AVashington, 
and  while  they  were  ten  miles  still  from  Chico  Springs 
she  ]:»ecame  so  ill  that  a  halt  was  made  at  a  ranche 
by  the  wayside,  and  Jeff  rode  forward  to  fetch  a 
doctor. 

The  doctor  came  in  a  few  hours,  and  Avith  him 
Mrs.  Mixer,  Avho,  touched  by  the  story  Jeff  told  of 
Nan's  devotion,  came  to  be  nurse-in-chief,  bringing 
a  buggy  full  of  medicines  and  comforts.  But  Xan 
would  haA'e  no  nurse  but  IMaizie,  and  the  doctor 
pronounced   her  in    so    critical   a    condition   that    she 


244  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

must  be  allowed  to  have  her  way.  The  fever 
steadily  mcreased,  Nan  became  delirious,  and  for 
twenty-four  hours  lay  between  life  and  death.  The 
next  day  there  were  signs  of  a  change.  The 
delirium  ceased,  and  she  became  conscious  of  her 
surroundings;  and  Maizie  hoped  that  the  worst  was 
passed.     But  the  doctor  shook  his  head. 

"  There's  no  telling  —  but  I  don't  like  her  looks. 
If  she  had  lived  as  Mis'  Mixer  there,  I  believe 
she'd  rally,  but  she  has  spiled  the  constitootion 
natur'  give  her  by — by  the  keeping  of  saloons,  and 
natur's  rounding  on  her  now.     She'll  sink." 

The  doctor  spoke  the  truth.  Nan  had  no  more 
fever,  and  did  not  lose  consciousness  again ;  but  she 
grew  steadily  weaker.  She  was  in  no  pain,  and  lay 
there  as  peacefully  as  if  her  life  had  been  blameless 
as  a  child's.  From  the  beginning  she  told  Maizie 
she  had  no  hope  herself. 

"  I  felt  I  were  gone,  dear,  when  I  dropped  in 
the  saloon.  There's  something  tells  one.  That  was 
why  Judge  Mixer  found  me  so  generous  yesterday. 
I  am  not  sorry  to  go.  Seems  as  if  I  ought  to,  for, 
come  to  think,  few  of  the  boys,  bad  as  they  were, 
was  half  so  bad  as  me.  What  ?  Sonny  and  you  ! 
Nothing   is    due   to   me.       I    stood  out   for   you  both 


maizie's  explanation.  245 

'cause  I  loved  him.  No  virtue,  noways,  iu  fighting 
for  what  you  love.  Yes  —  I  hev  been  bad,  and 
there  is  not  a  parson  anywheres,  if  he  spoke  the 
truth,  who  would  dare  to  bet  one  cent  upon  my 
soul.  Yet  I'm  not  afraid  to  die.  I  know  all  'bout 
hell-fire.  As  far  as  I  can  recollect,  our  minister 
taught  nothing  else  where  I  were  bred.  Maybe  he 
was  right.  I  dunno  —  yet  someway  it  is  not  that 
which  holds  my  mind  tightest.  I  believe  that  w^hat- 
ever  they  do  to  me  that's  bad,  they'll  let  me  see 
my  baby  boy.  An'  if  they  do  I'll  not  complain  if 
the  fire  and  brimstone  come  along  in  buckets  after- 
wards." 

She  paused  and  closed  her  eyes  and  opened  them 
to  say  drowsily  :  — 

"  Let  me  doze  a  spell,  while  you  bring  sonny  in. 
I  don't  feel  I  quite  know  when  I  may  go,  and  I 
want  to  see  his  face." 

Maizie  rose  gently,  and  then  struck  by  a  painful 
look  of  yearning  on  the  haggard  face,  from  which 
all  the  coarse  hard  lines  had  been  refined  away, 
she  stooped  over  Nan  and  kissed  her.  The  dying 
woman  started,  then  raised  herself  with  such  a 
gesture  as  the  one  she  had  made  when  imploring  Nat's 
confidence  in  the  saloon,  and  clutched  Maizie's  hands. 


246  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  ?  "  she  gasped. 

"  Yes,"  said  Maizie  wonderiiigly. 

"Then  you  will  bear  one  word  from  the  old 
woman  'fore  she  dies.  I  only  want  to  ask  a  ques- 
tion just  for  to  ease  my  mind.  See,  then:  A  while 
ago  you  was  in  danger.  Now  you  are  as  safe  as 
can  be.  Why?  'Cos  a  man  stepped  in  alone  where 
none  else  dared  to  go,  and  brought  you  out.  I 
have  lived  many  years  ;  and  when  I  was  young  I 
read  many  books,  but  I  never  saw  nor  read  of  any 
deed  quite  similar  to  Nat's.  You  feel  so,  too?  You 
do  f  Yet  he  cannot  reach  your  heart  !  There,  I 
won't  ask  my  question.  What  should  a  gell  with- 
out a  heart  answer  anyway?  Let  him  go  back  East 
to  his  folk.  Better  out  of  sight  than  to  tear  his 
heart  in  two  loving  what  don't  love  him.  Yet  —  I 
will  ask  my  question  after  all.  Why  is  it  ?  Why 
don't  you  love  him  with  that  love  he  has  given 
you?" 

While  Nan  was  speaking  she  became  more  and 
more  excited.  Blue  veins  stood  out  on  her  fore- 
head ;  she  trembled  all  over  ;  her  brows  drew  down 
into  their  old  frown,  and  her  face,  for  all  its  thin- 
ness, became  almost  as  fierce  as  when  she  defied 
the    Rathlee    gang.     When    she    said   the    last   words 


maizie's  explaxatiox.  247 

she  searched  Maizie's  face  with  eyes  that  pierced  to 
the  soul.  As  she  gazed  the  fierceness  gave  place 
to  bewilderment  so  overpowering  that  she  could 
hardly  answer  the  question  with  which  ]\Iaizie  made 
reply. 

"  Why  should  you  say  I  have  no  heart  ?  —  you  are 
making  a  great  mistake." 

"  Old  folk  like  me  don't  make  mistakes,  gell.  Yet 
your  looks,  now  —  but  say,  what  is  the  mistake  you 
reckon  I  have  made  ?  '' 

Maizie  paused  a  moment  before  speaking.  Under 
Nan's  gaze  her  cheeks  had  turned  fier}^  red  and  her 
words  came  brokenly.  Now  she  mastered  her  con- 
fusion and  spoke  in  a  quiet  voice,  though  the  flush 
was  still  upon  her  face. 

"  From  what  you  said  you  seem  to  think  that  Nat 
loves  —  me.     It  is  my  sister." 

Nan  opened  her  mouth  here,  but  shut  it  again 
without  speaking.  ]\[aizie  waited  an  instant  and 
then  went  on  hurriedly. 

"If  you  knew  Bel,  such  an  idea  as  this  would 
never  have  occurred  to  you.  She  is  beautiful,  she 
is  everything  which  I  am  not.  I  suspected  what 
was  going  on  when  we  travelled  from  Kansas  :  after 
he   left   us    at    Chico    Springs    I    became    quite   sure. 


248  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

And  only  the  other  day  he  said  somethmg  about  it 
and  1  — "  Maizie  cleared  her  throat. 

Nan  caught  her  up  sharply. 

"What  did  you  say,  little  one?     Tell  me  all." 

"1  only  said — "  Maizie  spoke  in  a  whisper  now  — 
"that  I  understood  and  loved  him  —  as  a  sister." 

Again  Nan's  eyes  swept  searchingly  over  the  girl's 
face  and  again  that  face  reddened  deeply.  Neither 
of  them  spoke  for  a  little  while,  then  Nan  murmured 
in  a  feeble  voice  :  — 

"  Kiss  me  —  little  one,"  and  as  Maizie  bent  over 
her:  "You  were  right,  my  daisy,  I  made  —  a  big 
mistake.     Now  send  sonny  in." 

Nat  sat  with  her  a  long  time.  It  was  the  after- 
noon, and  the  household  of  the  ranche  were  assembled 
in  the  kitchen,  sitting  round  the  lighted  stove,  as 
Western  folk  will  do  in  the  hottest  weather,  gos- 
siping. The  doctor  was  there  w^ith  Dan  Shelford 
and  Mrs.  Mixer,  and  the  good  lady  of  the  ranche, 
who,  in  hospitable  Western  fashion,  made  nothing  of 
this  upset  to  all  her  family  arrangements.  In  the 
room  next  to  Nan's,  furnished  with  some  pretence  to 
elegance,  and  therefore  rigorously  avoided  by  its 
owners  except  on  Sunday,  Maizie  sat  alone,  darning 
her   father's    socks.     While    her    fingers    flew    busily 


maizie's  explanation.  249 

her  thoughts  swung  like  a  pendulum  from  those 
words  of  Nan's  to  that  time  when  Xat  had  spoken 
to  her  about  his  love  —  and  she  had,  as  she  thought, 
answered  so  judiciously. 

What  Avas  she  to  think  now?     Maizie  knitted  her 
brows    and   thought    hard   for    the    space    of    half    an 
hour.     At  the  end  of  tliat  time  she  heard  the  sound 
of  an  opening  door,  and  Xat  came  into  the  room. 
"How^  is  she?" 
''  Sinking  fast." 

Maizie  set  her  work  aside,  and  as  she  rose,  Shep, 
who  was  lying  at  her  feet,  rose  too  ;  and  leaning 
lovingly  against  her  looked  at  his  master,  and  slowly 
wagged  his  tail. 

"I  must  go  to  her,"  Maizie  said. 
"Not  yet." 

She  looked  up  and  tried  to  speak.  But  no  words 
came.  He  took  her  hands  and  laid  them  on  her 
breast. 

"  ]\Iaizie,  is  there  any  hope  for  me  ?  " 
Her   lips   trembled,    and   she    smiled,    but    still   she 
did    not    speak.     Slowly    then,     but    very    tenderly, 
Nat's  arm  closed  round  her,  and  he  took  his  answer 
from  her  lips. 

A  sound   came  from  the  other  room,  a   faint  voice 


250  A   SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

calling  Nat  by  name.  He  answered  and  went  in, 
holding  Maizie  by  the  hand. 

Nan  was  breathing  with  difficulty.  Her  face  was 
drawn  and  grey  with  the  shadow  of  approaching 
death,  but  when  she  saw  Nat  and  Maizie  she  feebly 
held  out  her  hands. 

"  So  all  is  right,"  she  whispered  faintly.  "  Kiss  me, 
sonny.  Maizie,  little  one,  —  "  she  gasped  for  breath, 
and  in  her  eyes  there  was  a  deprecating,  imploring 
look  which  the  girl  could  not  understand  at  first, 
—  "I  was  bad,  oh,  I  was  wicked  —  if  you  can  for- 
give —  tell  me,  before  God,  with  your  hand  in 
sonny's.  Can  you  —  can  you  forgive  me  what  I 
might  have  done  ?  " 

Maizie  dropjDcd  on  her  knees  and  kissed  the  anxious 
face. 

"  I  forgive  it  all.     God  bless  you." 

Nan  sighed,  and  the  deep  furrows  in  her  forehead 
smoothed  themselves  away.  Her  eyes  closed,  the 
clasp  of  her  hand  upon  Nat's  relaxed,  and  without  a 
struggle  or  a  pang  she  passed  peacefully  away. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

JEFF   TAKES   ADVICE. 

Najst's  funeral  took  ]Aa.ce  at  Chico  Springs.  Her 
instructions  on  the  matter  to  Nat  had  been  precise. 

''  Mind,  sonny  I  Xo  preaching,  nor  praying,  nor 
nothing.  Put  me  in  deep  and  leave  me  there,  and 
don't  have  no  stone  cross  nor  railing  round  the  grave. 
Though  I'm  a  bad  woman,  and  the  world's  well  quit 
of  me,  I  want  no  one  to  intercede  about  my  soul. 
That  I  have  to  wrastle  out  alone  with  the  Almighty. 
If  your  little  one  in  there  will  forgive  me,  and  you 
think  kindly  of  the  old  woman  now  and  then  —  I 
ask  no  more  from   any  one   on  earth." 

They  buried  her,  according  to  her  wish,  and  no 
funeral  service  was  read  over  the  grave,  and  by  the 
springtime,  when  the  fresh  grass  grew  over  it,  only 
Nat  and  IMaizie  knew  where  the  poor  body  had  been 
laid  to  rest. 

When  Mixer  returned  from  Amenta,  it  was  found 

251 


252  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

that  Nan  left  a  will  with  him,  leaving  all  she  j)os- 
sessecl  to  Nat  —  a  sum  not  far  short  of  -^20,000. 
This  money,  however,  Nat,  with  Maizie's  full  con- 
sent, refused  to  take,  and  after  much  discussion  in- 
duced Mixer  to  divide  it  among  the  families  of  those 
who  had  lost  their  husbands  and  sons  in  the  battle 
of  Amenta. 

The  news  of  Nat's  and  ]\Iaizie's  engagement  was 
received  by  their  friends,  with  two  exceptions,  with 
the  complacency  and  smiling  patronage  of  people 
who  had  known  what  Avas  going  to  happen  all  the 
time,  and  were  surprised  that  it  had  not  haj)pened 
before.  The  exceptions  were  Bel  and  Jeff.  Bel 
embraced  her  sister  rapturously. 

"  Oh,  Maizie,  that  is  just  right.  It  is  funny  to 
think,  now,  that  until  Mr.  Collingwood  brought  us 
that  dreadful  news  about  you,  and  said  that  Nat, 
looking  like  death  itself,  had  gone  after  those  hor- 
rible men  alone,  I  never  guessed  Avhat  made  him  so 
very  angry  with  father  that  day  for  offering  him 
money.  But  after  this  I  never  doubted  what  his 
feelings  were.  I  am  so  delighted,  darling  —  and  as 
for  Nat,  he  deserves  even  you.  Mr.  Collingwood 
says  he  is  the  bravest  man  he  ever  saw  in  his 
life." 


JEFF   TAKES   ADVICE.  253 

Something  in  the  tone  in  which  Bel  said  these  last 
words  struck  Maizie  —  her  wits  sharpened  by  her  own 
experience  —  and  the  last  little  lingering  doubt  as  to 
the  reality  of  Bel's  delight  in  her  engagement  was 
at  once  removed.  A  long  and  confidential  chat  be- 
tween the  sisters  ensued.  Some  hours  later  Nat 
received  Jeff's  congratulations. 

"  I  don't  knoAV  how  to  put  the  Avords.  The  best 
has  happened.  To  me,  a  girl  —  such  a  one  as  Maizie 
or  her  sister  —  seems  most  too  good  for  common 
men.  AYhat  are  we,  anyway?  Rough,  used  to  rus- 
tling round  among  hard  j^laces  and  hard  people  ; 
while  tliey  —  ^vhy,  they're  as  white  and  pure 
as  angels.  So  I  have  grown  to  feel  that  before 
you  or  me  can  claim  for  his  own  a  woman's 
love,  he  should  have  gone  through  tight  times 
like  a  man,  and  earned  it.  I  get  mad  when  I 
hear  men  talk  of  women  as  the  boys  in  the  East 
do,  as  if  all  you  had  to  care  for  to  win  a  wife  was 
piling  up  dollars  for  pin-money  and  housekeeping. 
Dollars  must  be  made,  Ave  know,  but  money  Avon't 
make  a  man.  Xow,  you  haA'e  gone  through  your 
fire.  So  good  luck  to  your  happiness,  old  boy, 
and  hers." 

He  shook  hands,  and  then  AA'ith  a  sudden  half  sigh 


254  A   SON    OF    THE   PLAINS. 

turned  away.  Nat  laid  a  hand  upon  liis  arm.  ''  And 
how  about  yourself  ?  " 

Jeff  laughed  a  joyless  laugh.  "  Me  ?  Happiness 
is  not  in  my  way  at  present." 

Nat  hesitated.  He  was  not  one  of  those  who  find 
it  easy  to  draw  confidences  from  others.  Up  to  this 
time  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  to  do  such  a 
thing  ;  but  late  events  had  quickened  his  sympathies 
and  opened  his  eyes  to  many  things,  and  the  dangers 
Jeff  had  shared  with  him,  as  well  as  something  in  the 
man  himself,  made  Nat  feel  a  sudden  desire  to  know 
the  cause  of  a  depression  of  spirits  which  had  fallen 
upon  Jeff  of  late.  Yet  he  had  no  right  to  pry  into 
other  people's  business. 

"  Jeff,"  he  said  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  I  am 
going  to  ask  a  question.  It  is  not  a  fair  one, 
and  you  may  feel  it  interfering.  If  so,  dry  me  up. 
Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you  —  say  before  the  Amenta 
raid  —  that  happiness  might  be  in  your  way  ?  " 

Jeff  nodded  but  did  not  speak. 

"What  has  put  you  off?" 

"Mixer." 

"  Since  the  raid  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  What  was  his  argument  ?  " 


JEFF    TAKES    ADVICE.  ZOO 

"  Want  of  money.  Mind  yon,  ^lixer's  right.  He 
did  not  pnt  me  off  tlie  track  entirely.  Bnt  lie  talked 
—  well,  common  sense.  At  least  I  gness  so.  Bnt, 
some  way,  p'raps  becanse  I'm  ratlier  beaten  down  by 
the  little  frizzling  I  got,  and  the  fighting,  it  seems 
rather  hard.  However,  I  promised.  So  there  is  no 
more  to  be  said,  only  I'm  not  going  to  stay  round 
here  long;.     I  could  not  stand  it." 

"  What  promise  did  you  give  ?  " 

"  That  I  would  not  speak  to  —  to  her,  nor  look 
her  way  again,  till  I  had  put  by  a  pile  —  say  82000 
at  least.  Xow  that,  to  me,  is  a  big  sum.  and  will 
take  me  years  to  make.  Meanwhile  she  —  Bel — you 
guess  who  it  is  so  I  may  say  her  name,  what  will 
she  think  ?  That  is  what  bothers  me  so  bad.  If  she 
cares  she  won't  like  it.  If  she  don't  care,  well,  hadn't 
I  better  know  ?  But,  there,  why  do  I  talk  foolish- 
ness ?  Mixer  must  be  risfht.  I  know  he  is,  and  I 
will  go  away.  I  Ijelieve  I'll  go  to-night.  Could  you 
make  excuses  for  me,  Xat  ?  " 

But  Nat  did  not  hear  the  question.  He  had  fallen 
into  one  of  his  silent  fits,  and  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten Jeff.  But  as  the  latter,  a  little  hurt,  was 
about  to  go  away,  Xat  stopped  him.  '•  Tell  me  this 
— have  you  ever  spoken  to  Dan  ?  " 


256  A   SON   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

Jeff  grinned.  "  Need  you  ask  ?  Would  you,  if 
you  had  not  a  cent,  care  to  face  that  man  on 
such  a  point  ?  I  should  be  afraid  he  might  have 
a  fit,  or  give  me  one.  No,  I  have  not  spoken  to 
Dan." 

"He  is  her  father,"  observed  Nat  in  a  reflective 
tone.     "  Mixer  is  not.     Are  you  afraid  of  him  ?  " 

SgE  drew  himself  up. 

"  If  that  is  your  idea,  I'll  go  at  once.  Afraid ! 
Ten  Dan  Shelf  or  ds,  each  meaner  than  the  one  before, 
would  not  scare  me.  I'll  speak  to  him  to-night,  before 
I  go.     Thank  you  for  the  hint." 

Jeff  spoke  with  some  heat,  and  Nat's  eyes  twinkled, 
but  he  did  not  let  Jeff  see  it. 

"  Well,"  Nat  rejoined  gravely,  "  don't  let  me  advise  ; 
but  if  you  feel  that  way  I  would  certainly  speak,  only 
not  before  sundown.  And  as  to  your  departure  — 
put  that  off  till  to-morroAV." 

After  a  little  further  talk  this  was  agreed  to,  and 
the  friends  parted  —  Jeff  to  do  some  work  for  Mixer, 
Nat  to  think  over  a  sudden  idea  which  had  occurred 
to  him  while  Jeff  Avas  relating  his  troubles. 

How  Jeff  got  through  the  rest  of  the  day  he  never 
could    remember.      Carry   it   off   as   he   might   before 


JEFF    TAKES   ADVICE.  257 

Nat,  he  was,  in  truth,  horribly  afraid  of  Dan  Shel- 
forcl  —  when  it  came  to  the  point  of  asking  his  consent 
to  the  paying  of  addresses  to  BeL  Then  Zeke  woukl 
not  at  all  approve.  Yet,  as  Nat  had  said,  Dan  was 
her  father,  and  after  all,  things  could  not  ])e  worse 
than  they  were  at  present.  Anyhow,  he  had  said 
he  would  do  it,  and  do  it  he  must.  Jeff  waited 
until  Dan  had  supped,  and  then  brusquely  invited 
him  to  the  saloon,  and  called  for  sherry  cobblers. 

Dan  Shelford  was  quite  his  old  dry  self.  In  :\Iixer's 
absence  he  was  managing  the  store,  and  having  made 
money  in  various  ways  out  of  the  Amenta  troubles, 
was  as  well  satisfied  with  himself  and  tlie  world  in 
general  as  it  was  in  his  nature  to  be.  His  nerves 
were  in  excellent  condition  for  driving  a  hard  bargain. 
It  was  an  ill  omen,  also,  for  Jeff,  that  after  taking 
their  drinks  at  the  bar,  they  retired  to  the  very 
same  place  where  Nat  and  Dan  had  parted  so  abruptly 
a  few  weeks  before.  Perhaps  Dan  thought  of  this 
parting,  —  which  had  so  nearly  resulted  in  the  loss 
of  his  dearest  possession.  —  for  his  face,  as  he  leant 
over  the  balcony  and  waited  for  Jeff  to  open  his 
business,  looked  hard  and  drawn. 

"  You  won't   care  to  hear  what   I  have  to  tell,  Mr. 
s 


258  A    SON    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

Slielforcl,"  began  Jeff,  hurriedly.  "  But  I  reckon  to 
speak,  and  chance  it.  I  —  I  had  the  good  fortune  a 
little  bit  ago  to  brush  up  against  road  agents  near 
Las  Animas.  It  happened  that  in  the  coach  besides 
me  were  —  were  other  folk,  and  amongst  them  your 
daughter,  Miss  Bel." 

Jeff  stopped  here,  and  drew  a  mighty  breath.  Dan 
said  nothing,  and  Jeff  fancied  he  was  very  grim. 

"  \Ye  —  we  squelched  those  road  agents,  and  became 
all  of  us  kind   of  intimate  and  friendly." 

^'So  I  heard,"  said  Dan,  very  dryly.  Jeff  got 
desperate. 

''Afterwards  I  rode  down  to  Chico  Springs,  and 
was  at  Mixer's.  So  was  Miss  Bel,  —  and  then,  —  well, 
—  I  felt  everything  for  her  —  and  so  I  do  now  —  and 
that's  v/liat  I  wanted  to  say.  She  is  your  daughter, 
and  I  felt  you  ought  to  know  it.  Now,  Avhat  I  want 
to  knoAV  is,  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?  Will  you  let 
me  speak  to  her?  Or  will  you  shut  right  down  on 
me  because  I'm  poor?" 

There  was  a  long  silence.  The  murder  was  out 
at  last,  and  Jeff,  relieved  yet  distinctly  apprehensive, 
waited  to  hear  his  fate.  He  expected  sarcastic,  cruel 
words.       He    expected    questions    very    pointed    and 


JEFF    TAKES    ADVICE.  259 

not  too  polite,  about  his  present  means  and  future 
prospects.  For  a  few  minutes  no  reply  came  at  all. 
Then  Dan  said  sIoavIy  :  — 

'•  You  have  not,  I  prestune.  spoken  of  this  to  Bel  ?  " 

"Xo." 

"  That,"  Dan  went  on.  "  was  fair,  for  she  is  young. 
Yoti  want  my  idees.     I'll  give  them.     First,  marriage 
when  there  ain't  plenty  to  fill  the  pot  even  in  a  bad 
year  is  nothing  less  than  misery.     You  are  poor,  you 
say.     Then  you  can't  marry — yet.     Second,  a  young 
girl  like  Bel.  eighteen  come  next  January,  don't  know 
nothino'    of   men.      She    thinks   she   does,   but    she    do 
not.     Xow,  with  these   points  made  clear,  how  do  we 
stand  ?     Kind   of   far  away,  I   guess.     But   that  ain't 
all  in  this  case.     For  there  are   circtimstances  which 
I   may   call    pecooliar.     A  man  spoke   to   me    of   you 
this  afternoon,"  —  Jeff   gave  a  perceptible  start,  —  -I 
see  you  know  his  name.     He  did  not  say  mtich.     He 
ain't  one  who  does,  but   I   know,  by  experience,   that 
he    7neans   more    than  most.     It    happens  that   I   owe 
him  something.     The  only  man  I  do  owe  a  cent  to  in 
all    this    world.     I    ain't    going   to  tell   you   what   he 
said.     But   I   would  like  to  know  this  :   if    a   man  — 
it   might  be  me  —  made  you  an  offer   of   partnership 


260  A    SOi^    OF   THE   PLAINS. 

in  stock,  would  you  settle  in  this  country  once  for 
all  ;  drive  in  your  stakes  to  stay,  and  work  year  in, 
year  out,  steady  and  straight  and  true  ?  Would  you 
do  all  that,  Jefferson  Collingwood  ? " 

Jeff  gasped,  and  the  railing  of  the  balcony  on 
which  he  leaned  shook  again.  AVhat  did  this  incom- 
prehensible little  man  mean,  with  his  keen,  dry  face, 
and  sharp  e3^es  peering  up  under  his  hat-brim,  and 
his  words  of  hope  and  good  cheer  ? 

"Is  —  this  —  business?"  Jeff  panted  at  last. 

"  That  depends  on  you." 

"  Then  I  say  yes  —  ye^  a  hundred  times.  Why, 
that  is  all  I  want.  Give  me  such  a  start  as  that, 
and  I  would  not  be  poor  for  long  if  hard  work 
counts  for  anything." 

"  Yet  you  have  not  stuck,  so  far,"  said  Dan ;  "  you 
have  been  most  everyAvhere  and  settled  nowheres. 
Is  not  that  so  ?  " 

"You  are  right,"  Jeff  replied  humbly,  "quite 
right.  But  I  never  had  anything  to  stay  for. 
Now  ?  But  there  is  one  thing  yet.  If  some  one  — 
God  bless  him,  whoever  he  is  —  be  ready  to  give  me 
a  start,  how  about  your  daughter?  May  I  —  will 
she  —  what  ?  " 


JEFF   TAKES    ADVICE.  261 

Dan  smiled,  a  dry,  caustic  smile,  yet  if  his  face 
could  look  benevolent  I  tliink  it  must  have  done 
so  as  he  said,  patting  his  tall  companion  gently  on 
the  shoulder  :  — 

"  That  —  my  good  Jefferson  —  I  rather  guess  you 
had  better  find  out  yourself." 


THE   END. 


THE    STICKIT    MINISTER, 

AND   SOME   COMMON   MEN. 


BY 

S.  R.  CROCKETT. 


i2nio.    Cloth.    $1.50. 


"  Mr.  Crockett  has  given  us  a  book  that  is  full  of  strength  and 
charms.  Humour  and  pathos  mingle  with  delightful  effect.  ...  It 
is  hard  to  imagine  that  any  lover  of  literature  could  be  altogether 
wanting  in  appreciation  of  their  quaint  homeliness  and  pleasant  real- 
ism. To  come  across  a  volume  like  this  is  indeed  refreshing.  No 
wailing  pessimism  mars  our  enjoyment  with  its  dreary  disbelief  in 
humanity  ;  every  page  exhibits  a  robust  faith  in  the  higher  possibilities 
of  our  nature,  and  the  result  is  distinctly  successful.  Amongst  the 
gems  of  the  collection  we  may  indicate  'The  Heather  Lintie,'  a  simple 
sketch,  instinct  with  quiet,  penetrating  pathos ;  whilst  as  a  specimen 
of  acute  and  kindly  humour,  'A  Knight-Errant  of  the  Streets,'  with  its 
sequel,  '  The  Progress  of  Cleg  Kelly,'  would  be  hard  to  surpass.  .  .  . 
The  author  has  constructed  stories  full  of  grace  and  charm.  Those  to 
whom  humanity  in  its  most  primitive  and  least  complex  aspect  is  inter- 
esting will  find  real  pleasure  in  studying  Mr.  Crockett's  strong  and 
sympathetic  presentment  of  Scottish  peasant  life." —  The  Speaker. 


MACMILLAN   &   CO., 

66    FIFTH    AVENUE,   NEW  YORK. 


A  New  Novel  by  the  Author  of  "The  Stickit  Minister." 

THE  RAIDERS, 

Being  Some  Passages  in  the  Life  of  John  Faa,  Lord  and 
Earl  of  Little  Egypt. 

BY 

S.  R.  CROCKETT, 

Author  of  "  The  Stickit  Minister,  and  Some  Common  Men." 


i2mo.    Cloth.    $1.50. 


"...  The  things  that  befell  us  in  those  strange  years  when  the 
hill  outlaws  collogued  with  the  wild  freetraders  of  the  Holland  traffic, 
and  fell  upon  us  to  the  destruction  of  the  life  of  man,  the  carrying 
away  of  much  bestial,  besides  the  putting  of  many  of  His  Majesty's 
lieges  in  fear.  .   .   . 

"  It  was  with  May  Mischief  that  all  the  terrible  blast  of  storm  began 
(as  indeed  most  storms  among  men  ever  do  begin  with  a  bonny  lass, 
like  that  concerning  Helen  of  Troy,  which  lasted  ten  years  and  of 
which  men  speak  to  this  day).  The  tale  began  with  May  Mischief,  as 
you  shall  hear.  1  keep  the  old  name  still,  though  the  years  have  gone 
by,  and  though  now  in  any  talks  of  the  old  days,  and  of  all  our  ancient 
ploys,  there  are  the  bairns  to  be  considered.  But  it  is  necessary  that 
ere  the  memory  quite  die  out,  some  of  us  who  saw  these  things  should 
write  them  down." —  The  Foreword. 


MACMILLAN   &   CO., 

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THE   VAGABONDS 

A    NOVEL. 

BY 

MARGARET   L.  WOODS, 

AoTHOR  OF  "  A  Village  Tragedy,"  "  Lyrics  and  Ballads," 
"  Esther  Vanhomringh,  Etc. 


i2mo.     Cloth.      $1.50. 


"'The  Vagabonds'  is  a  remarkably  vigorous  and  interesting  novel,  full  of  true 
dramatic  spirit,  founded  seemingly  on  a  close  comprehension  of  the  weaknesses  and 
vanities  of  human  nature,  but  not  pessimistic  in  tone,  or  depressing  m  effect,  for  its 
effect  is,  on  the  whole,  uplifting."  —  xV^w  York  Times. 

"  Life  and  love  in  an  English  circus  company  are  its  themes,  and  no  little  skill  is 
shown  in  representing  them.  We  will  not  betray  the  plot;  indeed  there  is  not  much 
of  a  plot  to  be  betrayed.  But  the  author  has  not  only  made  the  dreary  and  often 
sordid  life  of  the  circus  people  interesting  by  revealing  its  genuine  humanity,  but  she 
also  has  thrown  out  into  bold  relief  against  it  one  of  the  most  touching  examples  of 
generous  self-sacrifice  in  modern  literature.  The  book  is  written  with  great  power." 
—  T/ie  Congregationalist. 

"We  hardly  need,  then,  to  bespeak  a  welcome  for  'The  Vagabonds,' her  third 
novel,  now  just  appeared.  It  must  be  classed  with  '  A  Village  Tragedy '  rather  than 
with  her  brilliant  study  of  the  life  and  times  of  Swift,  and  is  at  least  the  equal  of  its 
predecessor.  The  characters  are  very  humble  folk  indeed,  merely  the  members  of  a 
strolling  show,  circus  performers  and  menagerie  attendants.  Nothing  is  spared  us 
of  their  illiteracy,  their  vulgarity,  or  their  vice;  yet  the  art  of  the  writer  is  such  that 
our  thought  does  not  dwell  upon  these  things  overmuch,  but  is  rather  led  to  contem- 
plate the  common  humanity  which  is  ours,  no  less  than  theirs.  Pathos  we  may  ex- 
pect in  such  a  stor>%  and  maudlin  pathos  is  too  frequent  an  element  in  tales  of  the 
lowly,  intended  to  arouse  a  cheap  sentimentality  in  readers  belonging  to  a  higher 
social  stratum.  But  the  aim  of  the  present  writer  is  a  far  higher  one,  and  her  pathos, 
so  far  from  being  cheap,  is  of  the  noble  sort  that  levels  all  social  distinctions,  and  sets 
us  face  to  face  with  the  fundamental  virtues  of  life.  How  often  we  are  forced  to 
exclaim,  'This  is  truth!  '  and  not  merely  truth  in  the  barren  sense  of  the  photo- 
graphic realist,  but  truth  as  it  exists  for  the  artist,  truth  sublimated  and  significant. 
The  art  of  Mrs.  Woods  is  the  art  of  the  true  realists,  the  art  of  '  George  Eliot'  for 
example,  in  her  scenes  of  village  or  provincial  life.  To  make  of  the  clown  of  an 
itinerant  circus,  the  hero  of  a  novel,  was  a  daring  task  indeed,  and  it  is  a  true  spirit- 
ual triumph  that  we  should  be  forced  to  accept  him  as  a  man  and  a  brother,  which 
we  clearly  must  do  in  the  present  instance."  — The  Dial. 


MACMILLAN   &   CO., 

66    FIFTH    AVENUE,    NEW  YORK. 


TRYPHENA  IN  LOVE 


BY 


WALTER   RAYMOND, 

Author  of  "Love  and  Quiet  Life,"  Etc. 


ILLUSTRATED   BY 


J.  WALTER   WEST. 


i6mo.    Cloth.    75  Cents. 


"Fresh  and  quaint  and  wholesome  as  the  scent  of  the  homely 
flowers."  —  London  Daily  News. 

"  Full  of  freshness  and  life,  of  vivid  touches  of  local  color  and 
picturesque  details,  while  written  with  tenderness,  sympathy,  and  artistic 
discernment." 

"Nothing  more  daintily  charming  in  style,  more  tenderly  pathetic  in 
matter,  or  more  exquisitely  balanced  as  a  story,  has  come  to  our  table 
for  a  long  time  than  *  Tryphena  in  Love.'  It  is  a  simple  tale  of  humble 
life  in  the  Somerset  district  of  England.  —  Boston  Traveler. 

'*  A  sweet  little  English  tale,  idyllic  in  subject  and  manner.  It  is 
simply  the  story  of  an  invalid  boy  who  lies  in  the  old  manor  house,  in 
*the  room  where  the  king  hid,'  and  lives  in  a  world  of  romance,  and 
of  the  buxom  httle  cousin  who  loves  and  serves  him.  The  picture  is 
delicately  painted,  yet  firmly  and  clearly,  and  with  a  poetic  atmosphere 
that  is  very  charming."  —  Philadelphia  Times. 

"  No  gentler  or  sweeter  tale  has  appeared  in  years  than  Walter  Ray- 
mond's 'Tryphena  in  Love.'" 

"  A  dehcious,  dreamy  love  story,  told  for  the  love  of  telling."  — 
Chicago  Times-Herald. 


MACMILLAN   &  CO., 

66    FIFTH    AVENUE,    NEW  YORK. 


A  LOST  ENDEAVOUR, 


BY 


GUY   BOOTHBY, 

Author  of  "  A  Bid  for  Fortune,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 


STANLEY  L.  WOOD. 


i6mo.    Cloth.    75  Cents. 


Mr.  Boothby  is  rapidly  winning  a  name  and  a  place  for 
himself  as  a  writer  of  stories  full  of  the  magic  of  the  Pacific. 

"  It  is  full  of  the  dramatic  spirit,  no  less  in  its  language 
than  its  character,  its  action  equally  with  both.  The  author 
has  shown  that  he  is  the  possessor  of  rare  powers  in 
narrating  events  and  portraying  scenes,  that  indicate  large 
and  strong  work  in  fictitious  design  and  development  in 
the  future.  The  far  western  skies  and  softening  landscapes 
furnish  the  setting  for  a  story  that  is  told  with  superior  skill, 
dramatic  power,  and  literary  fin;sh."  —  Boston  Courier. 


MACMILLAN   &  CO., 

66    FIFTH    AVENUE,    NEV^  YORK. 
5 


AN  EXPERIMENT  IN  ALTRUISM. 


BY 


ELIZABETH   HASTINGS. 


i6mo.    Cloth.    75  cents. 


"Elizabeth  Hastings'  new  book,  'An  Experiment  in 
Altruism/  is  a  remarkably  strong  and  significant  work,  dis- 
cussing in  story  form  one  of  the  vital  questions  of  the  day." 
—  Boston  Budget. 

"  This  fresh  and  wholesome  essay-story  and  prophecy  of 
better  things."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 

"The  volume  is  not  only  entertaining,  but  is  valuable. 
The  author,  Elizabeth  Hastings,  has  scored  a  success  in  her 
first  attempt  in  the  world ^  of  literature." — Boston  Daily 
Advertiser. 


MACMILLAN   &   CO., 

66    FIFTH    AVENUE,    NEV/^  YORK. 
6 


THE  WINGS  OF  ICARUS, 

Being  the  Life  of  one  Emilia  Fletcher, 
as  revealed  by  herself  in 


I.    Thirty=five  Letters  written  to  Constance  Norris  between  July  i6, 

i88=,  and  Alarch  26  of  the  following  year. 
II.    A  Fragmentary  Journal. 
ill.    A  Postscript. 

BY 


LAURENCE    ALMA   TADEMA. 


i8mo.    Buckram,  gilt  top.    $1.25. 


"  It  is  a  study  of  the  inner  workings  of  the  human  heart  ;  and  if  the 
motives  of  a  soul  were  ever  laid  bare,  it  has  been  done  in  'The  Wings 
of  Icarus.'  ...  A  good  story,  told  in  an  intensely  natural  and  interest- 
ing manner."  —  Providence  Xews. 

"  In  '  The  Wings  of  Icarus,'  Laurence  Alma  Tadema  has  given  us  a 
book  which,  for  its  literary  excellence  and  for  its  exquisite  pen  coloring 
and  finish  in  every  detail,  is  as  artistic  a  piece  of  work  as  ever  her  dis- 
tinguished father  has  produced  with  his  brush."  —  Boston  Home 
yournai. 

"  It  is  at  once  delicate  and  forcible,  and  holds  in  its  story  a  depth  of 
passion  whose  expression  is  yet  kept  within  the  limits  of  a  true  refine- 
ment." —  Philadelphia  Evening  Bulletin. 

"  It  is  exquisite  in  style,  spontaneous,  and  well-sustained  in  movement." 

"  It  is  a  story  of  Italian  coloring  delicately  suggestive,  artistic  rather 
than  strong,  dreamy  rather  than  aggressive." —  Chicago  Evening  Post. 


MACMILLAN   &   CO, 

66    FIFTH    AVENUE,    NEW    YORK. 
7 


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